and now, it's time for the breakdown.

i can't help but wonder what they thought had happened, those people walking by on 23rd st. many looked away, averted their eyes, but a handful just stared openly, gawking merrily at me as i tried to conceal the fact that i was having a complete and utter meltdown in broad daylight.

i think most of them thought that my boyfriend and i were having a 'scene,' or perhaps an 'episode,' because i was clutching his shirt and trying so hard to be mama's brave little soldier (complete with set jaw and lip quiver), because everything he said to me made me cry. what they didn't know was that the tears had nothing to do with the words he said, at least not in the way they probably assumed, that the only way he fueled this hysteria was by saying all the right things, everything a good boyfriend like him says. but as anyone who's ever had a proper industrial freakout knows, sometimes it just makes you cry harder.

perverse, isn't it? how easy it is for someone to push you over the edge by simply telling you exactly what you need to hear, and meaning it. telling you that you're not in this alone, that you'll never face anything alone again.

we had to stop talking about it after that, because i suddenly lost my ability to form sentences.

just like now.