Loosing Heartstrings
At twenty-one minutes to midnight, my phone said, "Annessa, We're over." I couldn't breathe, and I felt my heart stop. My heart hasn't beat the same in the days since. Like a country song, it hurts to breathe. A handful of messages later, after I begged, he called in the cruelty of it all. Our lives have been playing like a video reel in my mind, and us laughing for no reason while we rolled through yellow lights touching his Jeep's ceiling, driving down from Denver as darkness covered and snow fell. We wondered how anyone in Colorado got out of their driveways alive; we joked they probably weren't from there anyway. Our dogs carry beef rolls in the yard like cigars. Him popping out his elbow for me to take his arm as we walked down streets, across parking lots, or nearly anywhere. Him picking me up at the airport nervous, him picking me up at the airport and wrapping his arms around me to say, "welcome home." Our seemingly endless days an...