it’s been a week since they had spoke.

he couldn’t decide if it was the laughter, the cutting or the crying that threw her off but it must’ve been one of them.  he picked at his arm trying to figure out where this scratch had even come from.  taking the pieces of skin off of his arm, and throwing them in the trash carefully making sure not to get them on the floor.

irritated.  irritated.  irritated.  irritated.

he looked out the window while it rained and thought about being soaked and smelly in that park.  he thought about being in that courtyard drunk barely communicating about things that didn’t matter.  he thought about being in that cold room writhing knowing that the only thing that could cure this sickness was her.  he giggled and thought, “i don’t need no doctor, cause i know what’s eating me.  i been too long away from my baby, i’m coming down with the misery.”  it was more of a cackle at this point.

he looked back up and paged through the notes that she had sent him on that long trip.  each one labeled with a day number, somehow not one day lacked a note.  he opened up the notebook and saw his scribbling from when she had been out of town, those notes that he never had the courage to give to her, those notes that expressed what he meant rather than expressing what he thought he should mean.  these notes weren’t as consecutive.  one, five, twelve, fourteen, twenty-one.  why did he only write on the days he missed her?  why did he only write on the days he didn’t cry because he was missing her so badly?  why did he…

the notes started to make sense.  you see, she wrote every day but it was out of love not desperation.  his notes were out of desperation but echoed love. he realized at that moment while looking at her smile and thinking about the last time he’d locked eyes with her and smiled.  that was it, it wasn’t that his actions threw her off, it wasn’t the lack of his actions either, it was her own actions which moved her.  he felt better.  but only a little bit.  as the happiness passed over his face, so did her hair.  he grabbed her side, turned around in the bed and held onto her loosely.

he had, once again, forgotten.  not all that i do is the cause of what you do.  not all of my mistakes cause you harm.