Read From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) for Free Online

Sometimes I wonder if him leaving caused me to focus on my job even more and that’s why I am where I am. I’m young to hold this position, but the gallery owner was impressed, saw the potential, and took a chance on me despite my age.
    I watched as Dylan walked into my gallery last week. My insides flipped, but I couldn’t run, didn’t want to hide. Just like years before, he commands attention even when he’s not trying. There is still nothing ordinary about him… It’s quite frustrating actually.
    He approaches art like I do and the way I view an object or painting. He even prefers paintings like I do. They seem more open, open to interpretation, open for ones own realities to be placed on the artist’s vision. Sculptures are more stated. I watched him view the exhibit on that date that I dread each year. I watched him study the art, utilizing what seemed to be the technique I taught him, walking around the room doing a onceover first. The way his body moves—so familiar, and yet somehow different as if life has had no negative effects on him at all. His body has also changed. It’s more manly—broader shoulders, sharper jaw line.
    I can’t speak to the internal changes. I hope there are some. I hope he’s different from the person I knew at the end our relationship, but deep down, I also hope he’s still the person I loved three years prior.
    Dylan showing up twice in the same day has messed with my head again. My thoughts aren’t clear, they’re fucked up.
    He did this. He did this to me.
    Why is he back in my life?
    Why does he seem to be in every part of my life again? Is it planned or coincidence?
    I’m pretty done with all of it, with everything. I’m fucked up because I don’t care about anything anymore, least of all myself. I dress the part though. I make a pretty package. I wonder if Dylan still finds me pretty.
    I’ve made a lot of money over the last three years, so I can afford nice things. My shoes are more expensive. So are my clothes, but that’s all superficial stuff. I don’t spoil myself. I wear my dresses to more than one event even if I’m photographed. I’m not shallow. I just have a few nice things. I deserve them and they make me smile when I wear them.
    But I do take cabs. That’s where I splurge. Cabs were always a splurge when we were together. We had this change jar…
     
    A taxi fund is set-up next to the phone where our spare change is dropped daily. Dylan hasn’t added any in at least a month, but I don’t say anything. He’s been stressed lately and I don’t like to upset him and it feels like a topic that might. But I can’t help but wonder if he’s buying other stuff with his spare change. Maybe a coffee from Starbucks? Maybe lunch out with his co-workers?
    Maybe… I don’t know. It hurts to think about this kind of stuff, so I avoid it, pushing down the questions that fight to be asked. Our home is empty without him here. His presence mixed with mine fills it, brings it to life. It’s felt lifeless over the last month.
     
    I’m still a saver. Old habit. Brandon says I should quit my job and travel. That’s how much I’ve saved. The art world pays well if you can find the talent like I have. My heart may not be whole, but what remains I’ve given to the artists I’ve worked with, those who are willing to put themselves on the line, the ones who are willing to be rejected and still carry on.
    How do they do that? How do they carry on, follow their dreams, their passions after rejection? I carried on, but I’m still not whole. I lost myself in the work instead of repairing my insides.
    Sitting at the park today, I look up from the book in my lap and smile when I see the ducks are back. It’s officially springtime in Manhattan. Seeking the silver lining after a dreary winter, I look around, hoping to see a family. It’s hard to hold onto anger for so long, so tightly. It’s exhausting really.
    Tossing my book in my bag, I gather the trash I’ve