locked up tight.

It's hard not to wonder what would have happened if I had chosen New York over you.

Would I have saved myself the pain? Or would I wake up every morning to the dark grey sky, wondering what would have become of us?

Well I know now. And it is more painful than any unanswered question or nostalgia-ridden dream.

Now every day I wake up to headache-inducing sunlight, wondering what emotion will run through me when my eyes meet yours again. Will it be regret that I have made this decision? Will it be relief that you are still in my life? Will it be a feeling of comfortable abandon? Will I feel sick to my stomache for hurting you like I have? Or will I have to continue forcefully swallowing the three words that got me where I am, so I don't end up where I was?

Lately, it has been all of the above.

When you told me that story over breakfast, I don't know what happened between us. Something in me went blank, whether from jealousy or insecurity or frustration, I will never know. I don't know what to make of the anger I felt or how little I felt I knew you in those ten minutes.

And then when I trudged up Rieber steps after newspaper training, I almost expected you to still be sitting there alone like you were as I looked back over my shoulder this morning, still so angry you were willing to throw all those little seeds onto my favorite sweater (the one you bought me last Christmas) like a little boy angry at his big sister for tattling.

And I was just thinking, maybe in New York, this would have all disappeared. Maybe I could replace the hole you leave when you're away with expensive shoes and snow and skyscrapers.

Then, just as I think of the alternatives, the question comes back again: Do you feel better now, you heartless bitch?