based from stevie wonder's lately

***

A cold night in the end of 1991...

I lay on our cream queen-sized bed, the white pillows scattered around me, the bed sheet dumped on the floor. I was tired of lashing out and crying in anger. I rummaged around wooden cabinets, dusty boxes and tall closets. I was looking for something I don't want to see but curiosity got into me. I wasn't sure of what and why I'm doing this but I'm sure of one thing:

Lisa's not coming home tonight.

This is probably the third time that her absence got deep into my overthinking that my anxiety tells me she's not coming home anymore. Who wouldn't think like that when your lover's been going out late in the night and coming home, not even greeting me, but has done it with the misty morning?

My anxious mind keeps telling me the opposite of what my heart says. I should calm down and wait for her, she'll be back in the morning. But there's this part of me--my guts probably--telling me to not expect her to come back.

I wouldn't have felt like this if it weren't for those letters. I wouldn't be this paranoid if it wasn't for an underwear that does not belong to neither of us (she told me it was hers). I wouldn't break like this if she didn't bought a new bottle of an expensive perfume and used it even if there's no occasion.

But I couldn't keep on pretending that nothing has changed because clearly something did! Even if she did sleep with me last