My car is idling outside a club while I hope he'll come out and go home with me instead of the hot blonde who speaks three languages and has her shit just a little more together than I do mine.
This is foolish. My smart, strong girl self knows this. I am so fearful of never again feeling what we had that I won't budge, refreshing my lipstick, sucking in my tummy, and checking my hair so that if his head turns my way, I catch his glance.
This happens every few weeks. I sit quietly for just long enough to get angry, then sad, then my stomach ties itself into knots, reliving the break up again...and again...and yet again. I hear myself say that I deserve better. I see myself stomp my foot and announce I am no longer going to be tethered to an uncertain love. I feel myself brace my backbone and rehearse a bold statement that goes something like, "I am done. I will keep your family as my friends, but you are no longer a critical part of my life." Then I roll my eyes because I know I can't say those words aloud.
I can only assume these frustrated feelings will melt to the ground and I'll fall back into hopeful mode the next time we hug. Our embraces are powerful, healing, if not deceiving demonstrations of love, passion, and connection. Our history is deep and wonderful. Our friendship is precious. This is not a simple something to walk from, but at the very least, I must start taking baby steps away from what we are.
He's a runner. If he realizes he's ready to love me completely, I'm sure he can catch up with me.
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