see ya later

I don’t do goodbyes. I awkwardly mumble something like “see ya later” long before you actually leave and make sure I’m conveniently absent when the time actually comes. This is a wall that comes up to protect me; I don’t want you to know that I cry when you go. Even the idea of you knowing that I cry at all makes me feel vulnerable, and I don’t ever want to feel vulnerable because there’s little safety in vulnerability.

Osa and her dog Bear moved out on Monday, marking the end of an era for The Muff Dive. My other housemates are away for the holiday, as is Sarah, so I’m left alone in the darkened house blasting old Siouxsie and the Banshees records, wearing hideous shades of lipstick as an experiment, drinking copious amounts of rooibos and sneaking cigarettes out the window. I alternate between this and playing impromptu metal guitar solos through the amp that Osa left behind, making metal guitar faces at myself in my reflection in the window while wearing a slip, loud enough that the neighbors can hear.

Usually it’s me who leaves.