The Bathroom Sink

The bathroom sink, which was once littered with different moisturizers, face creams, and dental hygiene products, was now half bare. My face wash, contact solution, toner, mascara, toothbrush, mouthwash, all the above, were now sitting in a plastic bag at my feet. I stared at the right side of the sink, the white porcelain glaring back at me, a reminder that this was the end. The left side of the sink was still cluttered with toothpaste, acne medication, razors, charger cords, shaving cream, and the remnants of what was the past year and a half.

I woke up this morning with my eyes already swollen and burning. I had been crying in my sleep. Crying the night before, waking up in the middle of the night to sit on the bathroom floor, crying. He stirred awake beside me, taking one look at my salty cheeks, and brushed away the tears that had already started to fall. We stared at each other for what felt like hours. No words, just two people in love, biding their time.

It was 8 AM on a Thursday at the end of June.

Time was moving too fast and not fast enough. We went for a walk in the park by his apartment, making conversation like it wouldn’t be the last morning we would spend together. The geese hoarded the path, and I gripped onto his arm while he maneuvered us around them. Who will protect me from the geese tomorrow? I thought. The sun beat down on our skin, but the heat was the farthest thing on my mind. We could’ve been in the eye of a hurricane, and I would not have thought twice about it. As the clock struck 9 AM, we made our way back to his apartment. For everyone else in the world, it was just another workday.

We made breakfast together, a pot of oatmeal mixed with frozen blueberries and peanut butter on top. I watched as he scarfed down his portion with ease and placed the empty bowl in his sink. My bowl sat untouched on the coffee table for the rest of the day. The tan and purples mixed together as the oatmeal remained uneaten, forming an unsettling murky brown color. My stomach locked. I was still crying.

I grabbed my shampoo and conditioner from his shower, absentmindedly dumping them in the plastic bag with the rest of my toiletries. He watched me as I emerged from the bathroom and placed the bag next to a pile of my stuff: my backpack filled with books and my laptop; another tote filled with clothes I had left over the past couple of months. Without saying a word, he went into the bathroom. His eyes traced the sink, taking in the imbalance of all his stuff scattered on one side, and the other side empty. He began to cry.

It came suddenly. His shoulders began to shake as he sobbed into his hands before turning and embracing me in a hug. He buried his face in my neck, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. I had known him for almost two years, and this was the second time I had ever seen him cry.

            “I’m sorry,” He said.

            I’m sorry.

            I’m sorry.

            I love you.

            I’m sorry.

            I stood still as grief moved through him. For a moment, I hated him. Why are you apologizing? I thought angrily. You could fix this so easily. You love me. Don’t tell me you love me when you’re about to leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t let me leave. This is what you wanted. I don’t want to hear your apologies. Never stop apologizing. I will never forgive you. I forgive you. I love you too.

We lingered in the doorway of his bathroom for a couple of minutes, still not talking, just holding each other. Remembering the feeling of his body against mine, feeling his heartbeat as I laid my head against his chest. My neck was stained with his dried tears, and his fingers burned through my skin. I wanted to stitch our arms together, memorize the lines on his palms, and carve the smell of his hair into my brain. Just one more minute, I thought. One more day, one more week, one more month, I promise I’ll be good. I was praying to a God I didn’t believe in, pleading to a higher being for him to change his mind, begging for him to love me just a little bit more so I could stay. Today, the world stopped moving. Time inched by, and I was a prisoner awaiting her execution.

Two hours later, I was on my way home, leaving behind a version of myself I still yearn for, and my heart.