Tears on the Tiles

I found myself on the floor. Except the tiles aren't the same, the shower curtain cheaper, the walls whiter. 

Crying. Listening to the same song. The last time I was here, my sister walked in, probably about 8 years old at the time, confused. My mother was downstairs preparing for another Wednesday, knowing the reasonings of the dreary bass bumping through the ceiling. 

His name was Jack, or maybe it was Kevin? Maybe a Chris? Matt? It's funny, I don't even remember what boyfriend of the week/month/season it was, but the pain was so true for 15 year old me. 

I joked just last week with a girlfriend about how ridiculous the relationships were that I cried over, but how real the pain was. It was valid. But my reality was narrow, rows of lockers and booze filled basement sleepovers were the extent of what I knew. So that was the greatest casualty of love, I would have known at that time. 

But, I find myself..listening to a playlist with an uncanny resemblance to that CD-ROM. I'm only 23, but this in some moments feels like the end. I've never loved like this before, I've never committed myself like this. 

But, my reality, my experiences are still so narrow. I've seen a lot more, loved a lot more, hurt a lot more, little by little, since the Jack-of-the-week broke up with me for a cheerleader. I guess that first heartbreak, and the miniature ones after have just toughened me up for this morning on my bathroom floor. 

And this moment, this pain, this walking through life, is just catapulting me to broaden my reality. My ideas of love. What I need. What I deserve. What I can give. 

I'll laugh again, listen to this song and me telling a year prior me, "I wish you could see yourself now." But I will always remember, despite where I grow from here, this pain, in this time on my rental's bathroom tile, as real. It's very much here, in this moment. It won't be forever. But it's raw, it's valid, it's the launching pad to just becoming a little bit stronger.


Richmond, VA

Carolanne WilsonComment