Jack's Mannequin - Bruised

This boy was, no doubt, an embodiment of every gut-wrenching emotion I'd ever had. Everything was an extreme with him--loving, fighting, laughing, crying, yelling, whispering. There was never a balanced feeling, but always a struggle for the upper hand. He refused to meet me in the middle, seeing it as bending to my will. I refused to settle for anything less than I wanted, fully believing he was capable of satisfying me. We met when I was a few weeks shy of eighteen and still in high school, and I was done with him a year and half later.

I've got my things, I'm good to go
You met me at the terminal
Just one more plane ride and it's done

We stood like statues at the gate
Vacation's come and gone too late
There's so much sun where I'm from
I had to give it away, had to give you away

And we spent four days on an
Island at your family's old hotel
Sometimes perfection can be
It can be perfect hell, perfect...

We were three hours away from each other at best, several states away at worst. I traveled by bus for a long time to visit him, until I got my own car. On three seperate occassions do I remember walking away from either a bus station or an airport with a sense of finality, knowing our relationship would not and could not last. The first two times, we seemed to always pick it up again, try to make things work, try to glue everything back together. Our times together would be blissful as long as we could see each other. But as soon as distance wedged itself firmly between us, we would bicker and argue and fight. The last time I left him at an airport was the last time I talked to him.

Hours pass, and she still counts the minutes
That I am not there, I swear I didn't mean
For it to feel like this
Like every inch of me is bruised, bruised
And don't fly fast. Oh, pilot can you help me?
Can you make this last? This plane is all I got
So keep it steady, now
Cause every inch you see is bruised

I can't count the number of times he apologized, to make it seem as if this was the last thing he wanted to do to me. I always would wonder if he ached like I did when we walked away from each other. Did every bump on the bus or every landing hurt him to his core like my drives hurt me? Did he silently wish the plane ride would last longer, if only to give him time before reality would settle in? I knew he didn't. He didn't feel as much as I did. But I still hoped.

I lace my Chucks, I walk the aisle
I take my pills, the babies cry
All I hear is what's playing through
The in-flight radio
Now every word of every song
I ever heard that made me wanna stay
Is what's playing through
The in-flight radio, and I
And I am, finally waking up

Inevitibly, after a break up (all four we had), everything would remind me of him. I would go through the cycle of deleting playlists of "our" songs, toss out pictures, and absolutely refuse to watch Moulin Rouge! I scoffed at happy couples while tossing on low-cut tops to go out and flirt with South Texas boys who didn't matter past our drunken makeout sessions. I would attempt at boys that interested me, even trying a "real" relationship with a guy who lived fantastically close--but fantastically close was too suffocating. He would always reel me back in again. It wasn't until our last break-up did I finally delete his number from my phone and refuse to speak to him. It took several weeks til I stopped biting my lip from wanting to talk to him, even just to tell him some silly joke. I finally gave it up.

So read your books, but stay out late
Some nights, some nights, and don't think
That you can't stop by the bar
You haven't shown your face here since the bad news
Well I'm here till close, with fingers crossed
Each night cause your place isn't far

Did my heart still skip a beat when I saw him online? Admittedly. Did I still hope to catch a glimpse of him at holidays? Of course. Did I want him to break down and be the first to text or call or message or whatever? Yes. But I wasn't about to follow our normal cycle and be the first to offer a tearful apology and beg to be "just friends" again until we eventually wound up kissing. I told him I didn't want to talk to him anymore--and this time, for the first time, I meant it.

I was finally waking up.

Bruised, bruised.