Monologue

For the play I (we) devised about broken hearts.  What I will say:

I remember the first night I ever stayed in a boys room.  I left at like five in the morning, I remember wondering if I was supposed to wake him or not-so awkward. I crept out of the room and I can remember the smell of the hallway.  It smelled like-like old rancid pizza boxes, he lived right by those horrible trash rooms.  But also, there were the showers right there and someone must have just gotten out because the door was swinging and wafting this really good cologne into the hallway.  So it was this mix of really really bad and really good freshly washed man.  And as I was leaving, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I just stood there looking at myself and thinking,
Who are you?
  
What I wish I had the guts to say:

I remember the night that I got my heart broken.  I was sitting on the bed and all the air in me was gone, just gone, and I was gasping.  And he tried to walk away and I wanted to scream, maybe I did scream- don't you dare leave me.  There was nothing. No smells.  No self realization.  Just empty.  And I'm sitting there, on the bed, and all I want is for someone to come in and say, "Haha, just kidding," but no one comes and no one comes and then later when he leaves I'm alone.  And I've been alone ever since. 

Tomorrow, in front of fifty people I may not know or even see again.  Maybe I'll do it, maybe I'll have the courage and go for broke-won't my actors be surprised when they hear the unrehearsed raw words in my mouth.  No-I won't.  I'll go back to old hurts, long since faded and mostly healed.  I'll pull at old scabs, hoping to get some inch of pain to lend an aura of authenticity to the performance.  Because the real thing, that's just too much.  

This has been stuck in my head all day...

Damn it.  Two days ago I was so happy.  It's easier to be happy thinking you hate me, than to realize you still care even a little.