AN EXERCISE IN SCARRING
DYANSANT VIDYA SAPUTRI
When he says I will never leave you, is it a promise or a confession? You see, people often mistake one for the other. It's supposedly in the tone. On average it's most likely a promise, but soft enough with the perfect tender staredown, fingers brushing lightly across your temple and his lashes dancing in the wind—it becomes an earnest plea of guilt, similar to how your third grade dentist told you No, dear, it’s not going to hurt but deep down you knew he was lying because Father was awkwardly cringing at the side and the assistant had cradled a box of candies and left it by the desk. You cried, two front teeth gone, the air current attacking the roof of your mouth and instead of pain you felt iciness between your canines.
Your second heartbreak was your the greatest pain. You were together for a little over 3 years before the bathroom mirror bulbs went out and he stopped coming through the front door. Instead of numbing your lips the chill bore right through your skull and bones this time, leaving cold bites that felt more like small bursts of flames than ice prickling at your skin—more anger compared to ache. A few months later you learned that when the promise breaks, the illusion dies with it.
And the first? You don’t remember much about the first; it wasn’t worth it.
So what would you do if someone takes you by the hand only to scrape their nails against your palms; blood and scars as their heart goes fonder? All options can be narrowed down to two: let go, or let them.
Neither would get you to the winning side.
Mother always did remind you about losing gracefully.
In the wise words of Nick Miller, Dyasanti Vidya Saputri is "the worst breed of human." Often found with a lot of opinions and pent-up anger. A 20-year-old with a lot of figuring out to do.