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POV: You’re a Jumper

Winter

You pull me out of the drawer one evening and pull me over your body. I can feel your tears dripping over me each night as we sleep together for weeks on end. You bury your face in me, as if the tighter you’re wrapped up in me, the closer we’ll feel to how life used to be. I sense the calm I bring over you and how you’re able to quickly forget, the pain momentarily erased from your brain as you inhale my scent.

Each morning I’m hidden under the duvet – are you ashamed of me when the day breaks and your head isn’t as foggy as it was at 2am? I can still rely on your return though; I know it’s too hard to be without me at the moment.

I hear you sobbing one evening, and just when I feel as though you’ll be back in my embrace, begging for relief, I’m shoved away into a drawer…and the sobbing continues. But now it sounds angrier. You sound resentful and fed up and emotionally drained, I can feel the switch in your voice.

Spring

I know you’re avoiding opening the drawer and looking at me, I feel like now I’m not only wrapped up in your memories of him but also in the sadness and pain you felt a few months ago. I still hear you crying from time to time and I’m hoping you’ll reach out for me, but it never comes.

I often overhear other voices scolding you, so I know you still miss me. People come to visit you and ask why I’m still there. I’m hidden away with the others but I’m still there, as if one day you’ll be able to show me off again and bleach away the sadness I’m associated with. I can’t tell if you don’t want to see me because I just remind you of the pain of the past, or if, like the memories, I’m fading too. I don’t know if I have power over you the way I used to but I’m assuming from your reluctance to face me that I still do.

You’re not around the way you used to be, I could rely on you to show up every day after work and pick me up, to cradle me in your arms and fall helplessly into bed. But you’re out more, you come back later than usual and you’re often in that drunken state where you can’t cry or get upset or feel anything really.

Summer

I feel like I hardly recognise the person you are these days. You resent me more than ever. I hear you moaning about me to your best friend and your mum. Begging for someone to pick me up with the rest of the stuff and give them back to his mum. It’s like you refuse to remember the way I used to be the only solace you found in a night with few hours of sleep. I feel so hurt by your actions, but I don’t belong to him anymore, I’ve been with you for too long.

I knew you were packing to go away because I could hear the wardrobe drawers slamming, I could feel the excitement in you as you danced around the room, laughing, carefree, a million miles from the little girl who spent hours alone on the floor of her room. Slowly the drawers around feel more and more empty as you pack up a bright array of clothes for any occasion, all occasions.

I hear you touch the outside of the drawer one time and I swear I can hear your thoughts. Pondering whether to bring me with you…just in case. But the fighting ‘I’m so over it’ spirit in you stopped you in your tracks, I don’t think your pride would have allowed it.

Autumn

It’s been months since we were even in the same place as each other now. I don’t remember this time a year ago and I can hardly recall what it feels like to be clinging to your skin, wrapped in the warmth of you needing me so fucking badly.

This place gets quieter each day, the happy times we shared years ago in this room are being painted over and I feel at a loss as to who I’m meant to be without you. I feel like I’m on death row, never certain about when I’ll definitively be of no use to you and thrown out.

The only comfort I find is knowing that wherever you are, it won’t be you who finally packs me away and sends me to him, because you’re still hurt. I know you still care, and I know it’s too crippling to ever admit that the pain is always there. Even as it lessens, I can feel it gently stirring, panging at your heart when you hear a similar laugh, or someone mentions his name.

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