You’d better believe there are artists, albums, playlists, that I can no longer listen to. Songs we earmarked for the first dance at our wedding, others that were playing in coffee shops or nightclubs where we shared nervous touches and first intimacies.
I’m not as bitter as I may sound. Every time you text me, I’ll respond. Every time you ask if I want to come over, I will. Not because I’m naïve, or oblivious to your game. I’ll be right here every time until I don’t want to anymore.
You’ve seen the parts of my body I stare at in frustration and insecurity. You’ve touched them with grace and complimented them. You have stared in silence, marveling at my imperfect beauty.
I can handle heartbreak and tornadoes and destruction on a grand scale. What I can’t handle is being naked and uncomfortably open for strange eyes to see.
You know the kind of love that happens only once in a lifetime? I thought what we had was something close to that.
You love each other, yes, but it’s dying. It’s dying quietly, drowning in a festering discontent. Chipping away, moving forth; realizing your inherent desire to be alone. Your need to have nothing.
Everyone’s got baggage. Everyone has or will someday have that person that puts a crack in their heart and a bruise in their ego. He’s mine. And he’s going to be hard to forget.
1. Where is the idiot?
If you’re blaming past relationships for your emotional baggage, don’t, because the time spent on a failed relationship was not time wasted.
“You deserve so much better,” they said, “and he’s really not worth it.” To which my invariable response was, “But I still love him.”