Choice: that was the thing.

Dear {Secret}
Perhaps you already know this, but sometimes what you want most also becomes what hurts you most. Because sometimes kindness is a cruelty in its own way. I dont know how to explain how much dreams can hurt. I woke up this morning in physical pain having dreamt all night. Because hope cuts deeply on occasion. And sometimes we want things that we already know arent good for us.
I tried to explain to someone younger than me the realization that not everyone gets everything they want in life. Sacrifices must be made. Some things just dont work out. Some dreams must be given up. Sometimes you have to accept the life you have and learn to be happy with it rather than continuously mourning the life you didnt get. How strange to be old enough to no longer see the world as always giving. Because even five years ago, I think I was of that rationale; That, whyofcoursethingswillworkoutandI'llgeteverydreamandthingswillbeohsoperfect. Life is much too messy for such simplicity of thought. And sometimes the world only takes.
I know the smart course of action. And I know that because I am smart, it will be the course I take. But dont think that it isnt hard for me to do it. That it isnt a choice that I will question everyday. That my resolve wont wane at inopportune moments - one step forward, two steps back. That the hope, potential and what ifs of the opposite choice dont already keep me awake most nights. Because what if we were happy? Isnt the potential disaster, and pain worth the possibility of such great happiness?
The choice you offered me was never much of a choice. It was more a declaration that either I jump on your time schedule and always be subservient to your career, your ambition and most of all what you want. What a choice! I would basically become my mother - which is by far one of my most terrifying thoughts. I would have her marriage and all of the insecurities she has with that marriage. Would I then become her? I have spent my whole life knowing that I would never let myself have that life. Too strong of will. Too many desires of my own. Too demanding of love and life. I wouldnt want to wonder if you loved your career, your ambitions, and yourself, more than me. And worse still is that I probably wouldnt wonder - I would know that you did. I have always wanted to be most important to the person I loved most. I have always wanted to build a life together with my love. To make life choices together. The give and take has always sounded so appealing, even for someone like me who likes to have her way. To choose our path together. It could be such an adventure!
I am so very tempted to choose the life I swore I would never have. Because I want any excuse to pick you. Even though you have pretty much told me you also think itd be a bad choice for me. And because your time frame allows me time to weigh my options, to search for better but still contemplate you, I'll probably still think about it. Even though I think I know having you would be too great a personal sacrifice. I still kind of want to do it. And if I believed for sure that you would love me most, I know I would follow you anywhere; support any ambition you had, any life you wanted.
I keep thinking about marrying the right person at the right time. I have wanted you to be the right person. Oh how I have desired that, much to the chagrin of everyone around me. And I always kind of believed that perhaps the timing was wrong. But you weren't wrong in the fact that I would never be happy being secondary to everything else you value in life. I would never be happy knowing you love ambition more than me. Particularly when I know that I could have loved you above everything and everyone else.
You act like its me who will make a choice. But really, you chose first. Unapologetically you have chosen yourself. That, I think, is the hardest part. It is easy to comfort myself when things go amiss that the person breaking my heart didnt love me or didnt care about me. But I know you do care. Just not enough. Not enough to choose me over yourself. And it is understandable to me why you would make such a choice. I honestly do see where you're coming from. The cant and the wont of it. The things you want arent bad. But honestly, they're also not the most important. And I pity your choice to set yourself up for a life completely alone. Because I could have been there with you all along. You needn't be alone. And I still hope that perhaps, before true regret settles in, you will realize that, even if our moment has passed.
Its not fair for me to be with you because I know I would spend a lifetime asking you to give me more. And always being disappointed you couldnt. I would always wish for you to care about me first and everything else second. And that isnt the life you have mapped out. In your life, I would always be an afterthought. And I am no afterthought.

You love me. Sure. In your own way I believe you do. But you do not choose me. And choice, that is the thing. 

Dear [ ]

I keep trying to make your latest declaration not a big deal to me. I tell myself it changes nothing. That without your willingness, which I doubt I will ever get, it doesn't matter what moments we have and what beautiful words you speak. 

But the truth is, I am running a constant speech in my head to you. The words vary but the message stays the same. I don't know what to do. Because I believe in your freedom to live your life as you see fit. But your actions have affected me and continue to affect me. And I am tired of you getting to make unilateral decisions on my behalf - to "protect me" from future hurt. I don't want you to tell me you love me and always will and then push me away and keep me at a distance. You aren't protecting me. And even if you were, I don't need it. Life and love are a risk. One that I would willingly take every time. 

You are one of the saddest parts of my life. I don't feel openly hurt anymore. But there is not a day where I don't have to remind myself not to contact you. You arent even a saved name in my phone because I cannot bear to see your name in my contacts. I want to check in. I want to talk over life plans. I want you to be intimately involved. I have so many little nothings I would share. The little details that seem insignificant but in reality bring such closeness between two people. And it brings sadness to my soul to constantly keep that desire in check. As always, I am holding back. Always forced to use every ounce of my self control to give you the space you practically scream for. And to try to give me space so your rejections don't feel like such a personal affront. That the fact that you never contact me is something personal against my being. Because I know it's not about me; it's always been about you.

I really do try so hard to see everything from your point of view. And I hope you do see that. I know I'm not perfect in my understanding. You're complicated so I think it's to be expected. But I just wish you would let me be there for you. And not shut me out. 

I wish we could be light around each other. But there is so much heaviness that surrounds us that no wonder we are often so serious.

I don't know how to want less. And the person I want to cry and talk it over with is you. Because I think you would understand like no one else would. Irony that son of a b. I spend so much effort down playing my feelings about you. And I know I'm not fooling anyone. It is the lie I tell myself to make your existence not hurt. 

And I know my inability to change my feelings makes me pathetic. But instead of being hurt, I pretend I don't care that much. That the passing mention of your name doesn't make my heart cry out. 

Will, one day, you regret holding me away? That's the general consensus of the people closest to me. But I wouldn't wish that upon you. Do you even fathom how much I care? I would hope that would mean something to you. But there are no guarantees when it comes to other people's feelings. 

Won't you tell me how to forget you? Or want less from you at least?

Could you not let me have some small part of you? Do I really ask for too much? 

I now know I have your love, but I want you. All of you. The good, the bad, the ugly. Because while I know you have imperfections I just don't give a damn about them. I don't care if you're emotionally damaged or distant. I think of all people I would be understanding of anything you were going through. I think I could be the best for you. But I don't know how to make you believe that. Or see the value in having someone. What should I do? Move on and hope one day my feelings for you fade and change? Make yet another risky declaration of feeling, hoping that maybe this time you'll choose me back? Neither option is good. Neither makes me happy. 

Can't you see how I would try so hard to love you right? And I can see in my mind how happy we would be. We'd be imperfect but for us that would be just right. You would tell me all the nerdy things you've researched and because you were telling me about it I would be honestly entertained. We would talk when words were necessary and sit together when they weren't. And at night we would whisper quietly as we were falling asleep. And I would always feel right with the world when your arms were around me. And I would give you my whole being and all the loyalty and love I have to offer. It would be a beautiful life. The best kind of life. 

Can't we try for that? 

I am terrified of pushing you beyond what you can give and losing you. But I don't want to live this separate life anymore. Or if I have to, I need it to be wholly separate, with no hope of reunion. 

I think I would make your life better. Won't you let me try?

A Reckless Monologue

How does one describe this feeling? It is as though my brain knows that what I feel is irrelevant. And irrational. Or as most would say, a choice. That I choose to feel this way. And I know it's true. But it is also untrue. Because how could this be something I have chosen. To feel as swallowed up and tossed about as I do. I would pick anything else.
I live my life trying my best to pretend that I'm ok. That none of the disappointments, shortcomings, hurts, betrayals, and indifferences matter. To see them as setbacks and, while unfortunate, something I am perfectly capable of moving past. Rationally, I abide by that notion. But all the while I feel like I might lose it. I feel permanently broken by life. Hurt consistently enough, that I feel beaten and cowed. Constantly anxious that I am not enough, that I do everything wrong, that I cant handle all that I am asked to handle; That one of these days I might reach to muster the force of will to move forward only to discover nothing there. I'm pretending to live. White knuckling my way through. And I am good at pushing forward even though every step pains me and causes the rising panic to spread further into the recesses of my soul. It feels a waste. I am a waste. So much wasted potential on a girl who cant make herself happy or loved. I keep searching and hoping something, anything will help. And I try to tell people. But words fall flat. And silence grabs hold of my throat. I never go far enough to explain. They never go far enough to understand what I'm trying to tell them. How does one say words that surely must just be a selfish indulgence? How do you explain what you know people don't really care to hear since it doesn't affect their own lives? How do you tell other people when everyone has problems and this is no more important to anyone just because it is your problem? Or explain to those who cant understand, even if they sympathize because they have not felt it? How do you explain something that shows just how much you are failing and shows your weaknesses for what they truly are - character flaws? Especially since nothing is wrong with my life.
On the surface there is nothing a matter. I'm educated. I have a loving family. I have friends. But I also feel completely and utterly alone with no one to share my true feelings with. I have so much good in my life though that admitting I feel so unhappy feels ungrateful. Selfish. I've tried occasionally to boldly express myself as plainly as I could muster. But to no avail. I keep hoping someone, anyone will notice I'm not ok. That they will care enough to see and hear past the exterior of being fine enough. To say more than cliched you'll be alrights, your time will come and keep pretending everythings great until it is. Or turn the conversation into a competition of who has it worse. Or try to helpfully fix me because my current state cannot be loved. That those who do notice will decide its not too much to support. That even if they believe I ought to be different, they'd love me as the flawed individual I am. But I expect too much. My life is a small blip on other people's lives. Insignificant. Irrelevant. Meaningless.
People tell me they're there for me. And I know they try their best. But most of the time I feel like they arent hearing what I'm trying to tell them. That my life, my true feelings are nothing more than a burden. Something that is too much to ask for. Because they are busy with their own lives and problems and who has the time or energy to deal with more than that. And nothing is the matter. Unless you count my feelings. But people tell me, for my negative feelings, I shouldn't. Because what matters to most is feigning a stiff upper lip and firm resolve. And keeping all the messy rest to yourself so as to not wallow.
The worst is that I don't blame them. Because really, feeling unhappy in my life only goes to show how self-indulgent to my own whims I can be. What do my feelings matter? Especially since I ought to be picking them. Being happy in the situation you find yourself in and other garbagey cliched sentiments.
And yet I'm not. I'm lost. Lost in a life I have no reason not to enjoy and yet I don't enjoy. I can't even remember the last time I felt a true, lasting amount of joy. A joy not tainted by fear. Not during dental school. Not during undergrad. Not during high school or junior high or elementary school. Maybe I really just don't know how to even be joyful. Not the same way other people are. Maybe I am not built for the same capacity of emotions.
People tell me that someday someone will love me for just who I am. But I doubt it. The people who love me now only love me when I am holding back. When they don't hear whats going on inside my head. People don't love broken people who don't function right. That only have brief moments of joy. No one would pick that struggle - to love someone who is so terrified that the constant feeling and thought that she is unlovable is true. I do this to myself. I try not to believe it. I try to trust but no effort is ever enough. Because I am not enough.
My life has not been any harder than anyone else's. I, like everyone, have had hard things and good things happen. I'm unique, just like everyone else and therefore, like I once had explained, so ordinary in my personal uniqueness that it makes me no more special or important than anyone else. Because it happened to me doesn't make it any more relevant or devastating. Other people have it worse. The difference is me. My ability to cope. My ability to function. My own self importance in my own story. I should care less. Who cares how I feel? Who cares where I go or what I do? As long as I don't make a fuss or bother other people. As long as I keep the act of being fine going and maintain my responsibilities, it doesn't matter what I do or how I feel.
Sometimes panic races through me and I feel as though I can't breath. My heart races and feels as though it will beat through my chest. I will fall short. I will let people down. Everyone will be mad at me. I hate having people mad at me.
I can't stand knowing that its irrational to think that way and knowing that I am genuinely fearful that it is true. I know I'm not ok. But I honestly cannot help myself enough and I don't know how to ask for help. I don't even know who could help me. Because every time I try, my brain tells me I'm making a big deal out of nothing and some petty life unsatisfaction is normal and fine. That if I voice how I truly feel I will get yet another speech on making the best with what I have, trusting God more and how good I really have it and how my negativity is really just my personal selfishness showing through. That I am horribly self centered. Ungrateful. Pessimistic. That to be unhappy is to be selfish and ignore what duty and responsibility I must deal with first.
People might try to assume that there is some deep seated unresolved issues; Some traumatic events from my past. And of course I have a list, though realistically probably no worse than anyone else. But more than any specific event, it is life in general that galls at my subconscious. It is me in the specific that is the problem.

Dear [Love]

Its strange to know that the change from you being there and you being gone was instantaneous. Like none before you, you left no hope of return upon your exit. You looked at me, not with your previous tenderness, but with a resoluteness that chilled me to my core. As one who was so very firmly decided. And I know that your departure will be swift. There are no letters to reminisce over. No songs to torture. No wavering from your choice. Ours was a relationship that was only in person. It was only in each others presences. And just like that, it is gone. It amazes me how quickly there is nothing left where once there was so much.
You werent unfair in how you broke up with me. You weren't unduly cruel. Besides, of course, the breaking of my heart. But I gave it to you easily and freely. And I knew this was a possibility of such an act. I only wish you would have wanted it. That it wasnt so easy to discard. 
I wanted you. I wanted us. But I am no stranger to disappointment. Each man chooses his own path. And love is never enough. And while my heart aches, I also know that I am one who was built to weather such storms, no matter the wear it leaves. I am no stranger to disappointment. And I have become well suited for it.
So there is that.

All my best. All my love.

Its the frustration and sense of failure

and the nagging notion that I'll never

be enough that I find altogether less 

than pleasurable - the math of too 

much somehow adding up to not 

enough. Too emotional, too honest, 

too demanding, too picky, too much 

of too many things. Altogether, not

enough. Somehow, still not enough.

wild & wily brunette

I'm Damaged Bad at Best

"It's the frustration and sense of failure and the nagging notion that I'll never be enough that I find altogether less than pleasurable--the math of too much somehow adding up to not enough. Too emotional, too honest, too demanding, too picky, too much of too many things. Altogether, not enough. Somehow, still, not enough...

When what I'm really afraid of is that I am something that can only be loved in the dark--hidden and away. That to love me would be a shameful thing."

wild & wily brunette

Unvarnished

Somedays I feel such acute heartbreak I'm not sure how I will ever continue. The feeling usually abates. But in that moment it suffocates. Since arriving home I haven't really done much thinking or planning. I can already tell that I am stagnant. People ask me how it feels to be done, but I know what they really want to hear is how wonderful it all is now, everything suddenly in its rightful place. But the truth of the matter is that it feels like nothing. And if anything, I am less put together than before I graduated. Sure, I guess it seems impressive, and even at times I am amazed that I accomplished such a feat. But mostly it's like waking up on your birthday. It's not really any different from the day before; you never feel older and wiser until you reflect from much further away. And I am still so close. So it's hard to for me view my graduation as something so momentous. It was just another thing in a line of hundreds of things. I know at the heart of the matter is a call for action. Nothing is ever going to feel just right. And I need to just move forward. But I'm afraid of what may be asked of me if I begin moving forward and I'm not sure I'll have the strength to continue if it were to become challenging. I can do hard things but I'm tired of doing hard things. Sometimes I feel such a crushing weight upon me that I struggle to catch my breath. Because despite my accomplishments and inherent skills and abilities, I feel so less than. Like I am missing such a crucial piece that would allow me to function as I know I rightfully should. And it hollows me out. I see all the things my life could have been and was not and I feel small. And less than. I made my choices and chose my path but it doesn't stop the flood of regrets and missed opportunities. I can't change what's already happened. So again, the only place to go is forward. Forward, always forward. But I can't see anything in front of me. My fear has blinded me. The truth of the matter is that I'm twenty five and basically a glorified teenager. My parents are tired. I can tell they have reached their limit. Mostly from all the lectures and yelling. But I don't feel like an adult and I don't know how to do it. And I feel abandoned and that they love me less because I didn't graduate and suddenly jump right into being completely independent and content. And floundering is unacceptable. I guess I didn't realize exactly how dependent on my parents I actually have been. I mean I was always aware of the help and support they gave. Because nothing is given for free. But until the last few weeks and their expressed and implied demands for me to take over some roles that they had previously taken care of, I think I just put it out of mind because I didn't want to deal with it. What a fool I am. My independence is a figment of my imagination. I feel so inadequate in every aspect I don't know I will ever make it through this time. Because I am lost and lonely and no one really understands. And as much as people want to help me, growing up isn't something that they can help me with. And I am pathetic for not being able to handle this moment. So less than. Always less than. I feel like I have let everyone down by not being more the person they expected me to be when I graduated. I'm a mess. And no one wants anything to do with a mess. Graduation has brought to the forefront all my insecurities. Because as a student I could ignore them out of busyness; Up to a certain point anyways. But now, the expectation is that I am finished with the stage of needing help. And I feel like everyone is pressuring me. My happiness and mental health are irrelevant, this much I know. Work. Responsibility. Duty. That is all that matters. And I have serious doubts that I'm up to the challenge. But the only place to go is forward. Forward, always forward.

Happiness

I would never describe myself as a happy person. I realize that sounds depressing. It’s not that I’m unhappy per say. I just don’t exude the happiness that you see of some people. Overly happy has never been my niche. My emotion for joy never really goes to that level. I’ve been told that no one can make me happy. Only I can. And I understand what they’re trying to tell me. But on my own, I’m not sure that I know how to do that. In my best days, I mostly just feel ok. Just ok.

I have felt happy at times. But I have not yet experienced something I would be comfortable calling the happiest time of my life. I mostly feel incomplete and haven’t wrapped my head around being truly happy in my life.

I know that people have a hundred and one ways to be happy. But me, personally, I just don’t know how to do it. I cry even when I have nothing to be sad about. Most days feel like a loss. How do you wrap your head around such a feeling? And I know that there are some amazing people who have it so much worse than I do, and are a hundred times happier.  But I am not them. And try as I might I end up here. Crying on the floor about nothing in particular.

I have a good life. I have loving parents. I’m close with my brothers. I have great friends. I’m not ugly, dumb or unmotivated. There is nothing wrong. And yet, I cant shake the, at times overwhelming, feeling that I am somehow broken for my inability to be truly joyous in my life. And my momentary happiness is never enough.

That being said, this is a “recent” moment where I felt such initial hope and happiness. The story has already played out, but in this moment my hopes ran free. Something they generally don’t do very often. 

“I’m boooooored!”

I dramatically flopped onto the couch in the living room. My brothers and cousins sent me a sidelong glance but didn’t acknowledge me outright.

This day had been nothing short of perfection. It had been a hot, beautiful, clear skied summer day, spent bridge jumping, football watching and family bonding. It made the emptiness that usually threatened to overtake me, settle to a deep recess within.

For such a long time I had felt like I was just managing. I wasn’t living, I was surviving. Just doing the minimum. It was exhausting keeping the façade up that I was ok because the more time that passed, the more out of control I felt. I was not ok. And something about the comfort of my family, made it impossible to pretend I was anything but a disaster. I knew I was petty. I knew I was frustrating. I knew my family worried and got the brunt of my dysfunction. But even at my basest and my most agonizing, I knew that they would love me through it. It wasn’t fair to them. And I realized it in every moment. But I felt unable to behave kinder. I knew I wasn’t the person they thought I should be. I was someone falling apart who appeared to have it all together.

But days like today made me feel that underneath the stress and frustration I might finish school and be able to be ok. Happy and healthy even. My stress was understandable. I was, after all, in my last year of dental school. But even still, I knew this wasn’t the life I wanted to live. I didn’t want to feel like this. I was trying to change. But sometimes just being alive is all you can do until something more happens. 

My family tried to be understanding. But they couldn’t really. No one really could.

But this day made the gap in understanding seem miniscule. It bridged that gap and gave me an inkling that I wouldn’t always feel so broken. Like I might make it back from the destruction I felt inside.

“Cousin,” I whined. “Lets dooo something. Call someone. Something.”

My cousin looked over at me. He was always up for having a good time.

“Well, do you have anyone to call?” I shook my head in response and he continued, “Maybe [what’s his face] is doing something? We could try that?”

I gave a non-committal grunt. I liked [what’s his face], but he lived with Him; Him who was the only guy I’d ever dated that I knew was better than me when he broke up with me. Him, who I’d been unable to forget. Him, who had written me in December to ease my worries that he was out in the world hating me. Him, who I’d written just before this last trip home, to tell him that I admired and appreciated him for helping to inspire my best intentions. That Him who I had run into a week prior, for the first time in a year and half. Sure, he had said we could put things behind us, but I wasn’t sure that that offer included me hanging out at his house. What if he was there? What if he wasn’t?

A small part of me (the part that had poor judgment) had hoped that he would want to spend time with me while I was home. I still cared what he thought of me and held onto the hope that just maybe, he felt the same. But he hadn’t. He hadn't called. We hadn’t run into each other. And I was leaving in one more day.

My cousin looked at me. He knew how broken up I felt about Him and he didn’t want me to be hurt. So he looked over as he called [what’s his face] to make sure I could handle the chance of running into Him. I subtly nodded that I’d be fine.

“[What’s his face] said he’s not up to anything so let go over and see what he’s doing.”

It was so strange walking up that familiar sidewalk to the entrance to his duplex. It had been winter then. But it still looked exactly the same to me and filled me with déjà vu. The cousins didn’t hesitate as they opened the door and shouted their arrival. I followed behind, almost cautiously.  I quietly slipped my shoes off and put them neatly beside the other shoes at the door. I looked down the darkened stairway. The door to his room was open and the light on. My breath caught. Maybe he was home. Instead of investigating further, I turned to the staircase going upstairs to join my cousins.

If he was home, I’d find out soon enough.

Upstairs, the boys and [what’s his face] were already settling in, trying to debate what should occupy their attention for the evening. I half-heartedly joined in, trying to appear un-phased by the changes in the living room. The living room where he first kissed me. It looked so different. With different desks and a different configuration of couches. He had more bookshelves. I ran my hands along some of the familiar titles, his different language and psychology books, and took notice of some that I had been wanting to read but couldn’t remember the titles to. I had been wanting to read the book about Amazing Grace but didn’t know what version he had recommended to me so many months previous. And since we weren't on speaking terms, I couldn’t ask. I made a mental note of the title, hoping that I could remember it until I left.

The boys settled on watching Community, and I tried my hardest to appear extra enthusiastic. This had been what I’d wanted, to hang out with people. But I kept waiting for Him to appear. I was filled with such an odd feeling to be hanging out in his house under such different circumstances. It was like I was standing outside of myself, seeing the entire experience from a spectators point of view. I excused myself to use the washroom and walked down the two flights of stairs. I held my breath a little as I passed his open room door. But he wasn’t in there. I paused to look in, suddenly flooded by memories. We had sat on that bed, with that quilt, as he had told me that while he cared for me, he couldn’t date me and continue to succeed in school. Being with me was exhausting and he didn’t have the energy to do it anymore. Most of the guys I had dated in recent years, I had felt in the back of my mind that I was better than them. It was a mean spirited thought. But with him? He was better than me. And knowing that he was more the kind of person I wanted to end up with, and knowing I wasn’t good enough for him, made our break up all the more devastating to me. I had worked so hard over the last year and half to change and better myself, because I never wanted to feel like I wasn’t good enough for someone again. Next time I met someone I could actually see being with, I wanted to be an equal.

I took a deep breath and moved away from the doorframe of his room. He wasn’t home.

I love my cousins. And while essentially we weren't really doing anything, even watching bootlegged episodes of a tv show was fun. We laughed loudly and kept watching episode after episode. So when He appeared, at the top of the stairs, in a suit, I was startled. I had ruled out the possibility of seeing him.

Our eyes met, and with a small smirk he said hello and came and sat beside me on the loveseat.

I felt electric. He started up a conversation about television and when I got excited about a favorite show, he laughed in a charming way and told me that my love of television was an endearing quality. We chatted and laughed and everything about it felt so natural; like nothing had happened. Every time he would get up and leave I’d find myself wishing he would come back just so I could sit near him again. We didn’t even need to be touching, I just wanted to be near.

I glanced at my cousins and could tell that they were getting tired. ‘Don’t be selfish.’ I chided internally to myself. I looked over at Him, laughing and smiling at me. I wanted to stay. But I couldn’t make the boys stay up just for an extra five minutes of conversation. As the episode we were watching ended, I announced, “Boys, it’s getting kinda late… maybe we should go..”

We got up and said our goodbyes around the room. Awkward goodbyes. I didn’t know how to behave. The boys essentially bounded out the door before me. And even though it was such a weird end to the night, I felt such a light happiness settle on me as I went down the stairs and stopped to put on my shoes. It had been such a lovely day.

“Melissa?”

I glanced back up the stairs, to see him standing in his suit at the top of the stairs, backlit. “You know, its such a beautiful night. Would you perhaps want to go for a walk outside tonight?”

“I have to take the boys home…”

“Of course, after that, you could come back … if its not too late for you…”

I paused for a moment to look at him, “I think I would really like that.”

“See you soon then. Meet back here. Just tap on my window and I’ll come out.”

I tried hard to not speed as I drove the cousins home.

“He asked me to go for a walk tonight.”

“I could tell something was going on,” my cousin admitted. “That’s why I kept saying we should watch another episode, even though I was freaking tired. He was totally flirting with you.”

I could hardly believe it, “He seemed into me?”

“I can tell this sort of thing. He was leaning in as he spoke and touching your arm.”

“Really? Maybe he was just being friendly. He did say he wanted to be friends again.”

“Trust me, Missy. He was into you.”

I said goodbye to the boys and drove back home to drop my car off. My cousin had thought he had seemed interested. But I couldn’t imagine him wanting me again. It seemed much more likely that he just wanted to be friends. Much more realistic. I popped into the house to put some pants on. It was a beautiful night, but I didn’t think a skirt would provide much warmth if it got any colder. Even though I felt so beautiful in my current outfit.

As I walked in the dark, the block to his house, my heart beat much quicker than my current exertion warranted. I was nervous. I knew he wasn’t interested in me. But I wanted to be near him even still. His example, his presence, made me want to be the best version of myself. Not for him, but for myself. He inspired me to dream of a happy future filled with books, television and travel.

I rapped softly on his window and paced in front of the door. Arms loaded with blankets he greeted me with soft hello.

“I thought we could walk into the park and star gaze a little.”

He handed me a blanket and we began to walk, chatting in the cool summer air.

The air was still as we settled in the park. And he asked question after question about me and for once in my life, I didn’t hesitate to open up. I talked, like I had previously thought I was unable to speak. But every time I would ask something about his life, he would hedge and turn the conversation back to me.

We sat in the park and at first kept our physical distance. But as it got colder out, we got closer together. I told myself, that he was just being friendly. He just wanted to be friends and I tried to aid him by keeping things very platonic. I was determined to be un-phased by our physical proximity.

I asked again about his future plans and he paused for a moment. I expected him to dodge the question again but instead he opened up.

“I actually just told my brother and dad the other day. You three are now the only people who know my plans.”

His words hung in the air.

Why would he tell me? It was a secret and something so personal and he was telling me.

Quietly, I posed the question to him, “Why would you tell me? We haven't exactly spoken for a year and a half because we weren't on good terms… it seems odd that you would share such a secret with me when you haven’t even told all of your family…”

“I don’t mind telling you things.”

It was such a simple reply but it meant so much to me.

It was a strange night. It felt like the first time we had hung out and like our horrendous break up had never occurred. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to be with him, even after all this time. And I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed and smiled so much. I felt light headed from laughing and my cheeks burned and ached. We talked and laughed all night, and as the sky lightened, I knew that we should leave. But this time, I didn’t have the will power to end the evening, especially when he seemed so content to stay next to me until the sun rose fully in the sky. I had forgotten what a joy his company could be.

The sky continued to lighten, and dog walkers began to appear. We slowly began to sit up. We sat cross legged, knee to knee, still sharing a blanket, our arms partially wrapped around each other.

“You know, this night has been perfect and deserves a perfect end,” He looked down at me and put the slightest amount of pressure on my lower back as I looked deeply into his brown eyes, trying to comprehend his meaning.

I felt so ill-prepared for this moment. He just wanted to be friends with me. Didn’t he? I stiffened against his leading pressure, not allowing it to direct me forward towards him.

“Really?” He pouted.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to kiss him again. But now that the moment was upon me, I was scared. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk it.

“Poor Boston, if this is all it can get from you,” he playfully teased.

I frowned slightly, “This is more than Boston gets.”

He looked kindly down at me and pulled me into a tight embrace.

Snuggled into his shoulder I asked what I had been wondering all night, “Why did you ask me to hang out? It was such a chance encounter that we ran into each other tonight. Why did you ask me to come for a walk?”

I felt the pressure of his arms tighten briefly. “It has been very hard for me to not contact you since we broke up. I haven't been able to get you out of my head. I couldn’t stay away. That’s part of why I wrote to you in December. When we broke up, I always planned on writing to you again. Of contacting you.”

I pulled back just enough so that I could see his face. He looked so sincere.

“Whats changed though?” It broke my heart to ask it, but as much as I would have liked to say I was better than when we broke up, I wasn’t sure if the differences were even measurable to anyone besides myself. “You were quite clear in that last email from our breakup. Has anything really changed since then?”

“Oh, Melissa,” he cooed softly. “You misunderstood my meaning. Nothing has changed for me. You are still awesome and possess so many qualities I admire.”

He leaned his forehead to mine.

“Do you think you’ve changed since then?”

Of course I had felt some changes within myself. But none that would warrant his sudden interest in me again. Time had changed me, but I was still basically the same person. Still the flawed version of myself from 2009. Still a mess so much of the time. And yes, when I’m cheerful, people seemed to overlook those flaws. But they aren't as easy to overlook when I’m having a hard day. My lows are equally as forceful as my highs.

He leaned back to look me in the eyes, settling his hands on my arms, almost like he was holding me at arms length to really see me.

“I don’t know what the future holds in store Melissa, but I want you to know that no matter what happens, I really, and truly think you are so special.” When I cringed at his use of the word special he continued. “You are special. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re fun and charming and amazing. There is no one like you. And I don’t want you to forget that. You are someone to know.”

We stared for a moment into each others eyes, and this time, when his slight pressure urged me forward, I didn’t fight him, but closed my eyes and let him kiss me softly.

The perfect end to a perfect day.

Authenticity

"It seems to me that being authentic is being brave enough or just candid enough to be honest about what you are experiencing or who you are, whether it is popular or not. A person gives a gift to other people when they say, 'This is what happened to me or this is how I truly feel, no matter what the popular belief is about what I should feel.' Whenever you are honest, you are speaking for a thousand silent people who don't have the voice to say what they really feel or are really experiencing. So, if you ever talk about [the thing you went through], you will touch a million hearts. Because you are speaking for more than just yourself. You are never alone in what you are feeling" 

CupOfJo

The preface:

I have been having a hard time writing (and perhaps living) lately. And it all comes down to authenticity. And my commitment to that. I want to be real and open and honest. But writing about life when you arent to the place where you can understand it all, can come off sounding whiny and pathetic and in my case, rather pessimistic. And I don't want to be that kind of person. And my life doesn't warrant only that perspective. I want to be honest but I also want to avoid being all 'woe is me'. Because I do realize that I have a lot to be thankful for. But having good moments doesn't really temper the other moments. Thus the debate about what to write. Because writing is my forum for relief but I don't always have it in me to paint a perfectly content picture. Nor does my very expressive face allow me the benefit of hiding beneath it. Whether I like it or not, its out for the world to see. 

I am going through something. For the most part I can't even articulate exactly what it is and can't tell if it even matters. Somedays I'm not even sure if its real or if its all in my head. It ebbs and flows. Maybe its called dental school. Maybe its called life. Maybe I'm hitting some sort of quarter life crisis. Maybe thats it. I don't really know. But it simultaneously feels important and irrelevant. I am on a precipice in my life. I feel the urge to try to talk about it, while also feeling how sick people must feel, hearing me try to work through this general vagueness. And how few people I actually have to even attempt to listen.
I used to think I was a very forgiving person. I've re-"dated" (and I use the term loosely considering it was never a formal second go around) many people that hurt me. Its kinda my thing to beat a dead horse. But forgiveness? I say I've forgiven and I'm over it. And I truly feel that I am over the emotion. But is it really forgiveness if it still keeps me awake at night? If it still impacts my future decisions and ability to trust. I may allow people the opportunity to vest new interest in me, but I have not forgotten the past. And as much as I give second chances, it is a half-hearted opportunity, allowed only because I have a romantic notion when it comes to history. And even if it was the worst, it still means something to me. And while I may be over the moment, I'm not over the pain it caused me. 
People tell me I need to learn to get over the past. I need to make it into some grand lesson of self-betterment. Using the history I have logged to my own advantage. But as much as I know in my head that forgiveness and noble feelings should rule my life, I don't feel that. Instead, I feel how wrong my feelings are. My feelings are never the right ones. I'm sad when I should be happy. I'm hurt when I should be forgiving. I hold tight when I should let go. I'm wrong when I should be right. I'm well aware of how short I fall. I wish I felt the right way. But knowing how I should feel and getting to that point are two very different things. And all the advice of 'how to not be haunted by the past,' does is bring to the forefront of my mind how much people think I need to change and how inadequate I really am. And I really don't need any help with that. I'm well aware of my shortcomings.
When I think about myself and people meeting this version of me, at this stage of my life, I can't help but think of the moment at the end of Fight Club. "You met me at a very strange time in my life." Indeed, I am simultaneously more myself and less myself than ever before.

Sometimes I wander across people's blogs that I am only remotely acquainted with in real life. I know the names but most of the time nothing more than surface details. So stumbling across their blog feels so personal. Reading a strangers blog is much less invasive and more akin to fiction than reading an acquaintances. I often feel like I am a coward. I toss and turn with all these half thoughts, and only have the courage and skill to post the smallest fraction on my blog. Because most of my thoughts are just vague, wordless feelings that I have neither the skill nor the clarity to describe and understand. I read other people's blogs and I am amazed at their honesty; their bravery; their ability to make their lives so full of insight. I wish I was the brave sort of person. I wish I could make sense of things.

But mostly I wish I saw myself differently. I wish the thoughts in my head didn't feel so irrelevant. And like such a broken record. A whiny, self-indulgent, pompous broken record. To be quite frank, I'm sick of myself. I get it, I'm not the version anyone thinks I should be. 

The future freaks me out. Its cliche but true. I could do anything with my life. I could be anyone. But all I feel is how much I don't want to make any decisions. And how weighed down with obligations I already am.

I talked a while ago with a couple friends about travelling. And as we talked, it became blatantly apparent that if I'm ever going to travel, I'm going to need to take charge and step out of my comfort zone. It reminds me of my decision to try to get into dental school. Before I could commit to applying to dental school, I had to decide if all the hard work I knew would be required was worth it. If I could be smart enough. Because I had real doubts about my amount of intelligence. It sounds lazy and full of self-deprecation, but I guess it was my way of mentally preparing for what was to come; conserving energy for later use. I didn't want to work so hard for something that I would then hate. It had to be a conscious decision that all that effort would not be wasted. And thats kind of how I feel about travelling and the even broader topic of my future plans. I know that potentially it could be great (and I have wanderlust like nobody's business). But there is something terrifying about knowing that after all your hard work and careful planning, that you might fall flat on your face. Would the goal still be worth all that sacrifice and work, if failure and catastrophe should happen? 


I'm still working on that.

There is an implied (and often suffocating) safety in doing what you've always done. And I know that once I decide to make future plans (be it moving somewhere different or travelling or whatever), I have the ability to make it happen. After all, despite the intimidating endeavour of dental school applications, I made it, didn't I? 


Didn't I. Most days I'm not so sure. 


But right now, it feels daunting. Like every move I might make would be a mistake. The time to commit to it isn't right just yet. Which is fair considering I have neither the funds, the certainty of a direction nor the freedom of time to settle my affairs.

Before I was accepted into BU, but after I finally felt that dentistry was right for me, I had the overwhelming feeling that the path I was embarking on would be difficult. Naively, I assumed that meant that I wouldn't get in and I would have to struggle and toil to get accepted. That was not the way it played out. Boston and dental school has challenged me in ways I could not have expected when I felt so strongly that dental school was the direction my life should head. And I don't know that I have succeeded despite the difficulties. I'm supposed to graduate in just under two months. And a lot of the time when I think about the future, I'm not sure anymore that I made the right choice. I have changed since moving to Boston. And I'd love to say its been for the better, and while I think I've grown a lot here, I don't know if even a quarter of that change made me better.

I feel lost. And empty. We have meetings about the future and all I can think of is how little I want to plan and make decisions. Should I stay in the US? Should I go home? The thought of getting a job makes me physically ill. All I want is to get the hell out of BU. But to go where? Because I don't want to be anywhere. I guess it doesn't matter where I go from here since I don't know where to be. Part of me thinks maybe my problem is that I spend too much time focusing on myself. But turning my focus elsewhere doesn't feel like its helping. Mostly it just feels like I'm pretending my life isn't going to continue to move forward. Which it will continue to do whether I'm paying attention or not. I know I make too much of too little. But I am in turmoil. And dental school and stress are contributing factors.

Now for the real authentic me.

I'm angry. And I know a lot of people won't understand why I would have anything to be angry at. I am, after all, living the dream of graduating from dental school. Off the top of my head, I could name three close family members who would trade me places in a second (barring of course that they get to keep everything good in their life and also get the benefits of mine). But what people don't realize is that actually graduating from dental school sucks. And has probably been one of the worst experiences of my life. I hate my school. I hate my class mates. I hate all the crap they put us through just so we can get out of this hell hole. I hate Boston. I hate so much. "Oh but you get to be a dentist after you make it through it all." Great. Just in time for me to officially hate everything about dentistry. Lucky me. I feel like I can hardly interact with anyone I'm filled with such anger.

Everyone tells me that I'll make it through. That this is just a short moment. That I have a lot on my plate and it'll get better. That I'm oversensitive and not seeing the big picture. But this moment has been slowly building for years. This anger wasn't overnight. It is from weeks and months and years of frustration. I must not be as strong as other people. Because they seem to have made it through similar struggles unmarred. Whereas I feel like an open wound festering. 

Thats overly dramatic. Add that to the list of my faults. Just one of many.

I read an article about how you'll never be happy, if you're always saying "I'll be happy when..." And how people need to be happy in whatever circumstances they're in. Looking on the bright side; Positive, optimistic, happy people. Of course knowing and feeling are not the same. 

I feel barely able to function; barely able to keep a grip over the emotions that are always just beneath the surface. And I think that if I didn't think getting trapped in Boston, with this church and this school were the worst options ever, I would crumble under the pressure of it all. So I continue to work. But the cracks are showing. And they are multiplying. I just hope that I can last long enough to get out of here. Of course, knowing what I know, I make no promises about my state of happiness after this time in my life. Because knowing me, I'll probably hate that too.

I'll meet you in the park

My childhood heart always belonged to you.
We didn't hold hands, or kiss or even spend a lot of time together. But there were our sidelong glances at church, and you sharing fruit roll-ups with me, when my bad behaviour forfeited my own, and countless run-ins in the park where we would walk side-by-side. I would try to time my walks to school, just so we would have those wonderful five minutes together. And the best days, were those when we would catch each other at the beginning of the green strip and have the entire time it took to cross the field to be together. I could see us dating (once we reached the appropriate age of 16), falling in love and getting married. You were perfect. And I knew that together we would be perfect.
And then I found out you were moving; A good 12 hours away.
Our beautiful life together was never going to have a chance.
And I was crushed.
But I always held a soft spot in my heart for you.
My siblings would tease me for weeks the couple of times you visited. And I would blush. But underneath that blush, I thought, yes, if only we could be in the same place again. Because years passed, but my affection for you stayed exactly where it had been; Hoping that it would again run into you in the park, and that we could walk side-by-side like we had before.
Even years later my ideal crush always carried a striking resemblance to you.
My hopeless romanticism is a deeply rooted characteristic as it turns out.
Anytime my mom would mention your family, my ears would perk up, waiting to hear how you were. So when, in our adulthood, you found me again, I welcomed you back. And couldn't help but dream of meeting up and realizing how perfect we still were for each other.
You must have felt the same. Because I saw my childhood crush, still reflecting in your responses to me. We decided to meet up again, on a weekend we were both going to be back in our former home city. We made plans for you to stop by my childhood home. And I felt such a rush of excitement to see you again.
My mother cautioned me that you were not the boy I had known long ago. But I didn't care. Because you still sounded like the boy I had once known and I couldn't imagine a world where you had really changed.
It had easily been almost a decade since we'd last seen each other.
You came in and greeted my family. And I felt shy seeing you in person again.
You commented on how tall I had become in such an amazed tone.
But then so were you.
I think that both of us had been picturing our childhood versions of each other. Where neither time passing nor puberty had occurred yet.
We made polite chit-chat but it was very clear that I was no longer that girl from the park and you were no longer that boy. As much as I wouldn't have liked to believe it, time had indeed changed each of us. And our paths had diverged greatly.
I havent spoken to you since that moment. Because I think both of us knew that the childhood romance we had held onto was another relic of our pasts.
But I still think about you now and then and wonder what our lives would have become had we been allowed to stay close through our growing up years.
And even though adulthood has pulled us far apart, I still remember how you were the first to hold my hope for the future. And I think fondly of you from time to time.

Just Wanna Hold Your Hand

For me, it always comes back to hand holding. People seem to be less concerned about giving their kisses away. But holding hands? That is an intimacy reserved for a relationship. It seems backwards. But the willingness to entwine fingers and hold tight to someone else says a lot more than the willingness to kiss someone. People kiss people. Caught up in a moment. Just because they feel like it. Any number of other reasons. But holding hands... that shows intention. It shows commitment. It shows that they don't care who knows that you're together. Because kissing is done in secrecy but holding hands happens out in the open where other people can see it. So for me, that willingness speaks more to someones' true feelings than anything else.  

"I swear to you, I have never noticed that tree house," I laughed.

"What? No way."

"Seriously, was that there the entire time we dated?"

"How could you have never noticed it? I don't believe it."

"I swear I've never seen it before in my life."

Maybe I'd seen the tree house before. But it had been a long time since I'd been standing on this driveway. And especially on this driveway with him. We both looked up at the tree house in question. The boys laughed and played a round of two on two basketball while we chatted. It felt so normal. Being here with my brothers. And him. His sarcasm and cynicism felt like home. I knew his looks. I knew his tone. He was flirting with me. Wasn't he?  

He had been my best friend. At one point, he knew me best. But things had taken so many confusing turns. He started dating someone else. He broke up with me. In that order. And then when I pretended to be indifferent to his new girlfriend, he kissed me again. And now that they weren't together and I was home again, I openly hoped that he would want to get back together. Why else would we be spending so much time together? Sure, I was manufacturing some of the opportunities for us to see each other. He seemed so resistant at times - which was very confusing because in other moments he'd show up on my doorstep to see me. So I'd tag along with my brothers, as one of the boys, just to be present in his thoughts and line of sight. To remind him why we'd been together for so long before. Sometimes you have to create your own opportunity and presence can go a long way. That had always been the best part. We both got to spend time with each other and my brothers. Sure, since I'd been back he'd come to see me everyday.  He'd kissed me. That was promising. But he treated me so differently when other people were around to witness. And he told me to not tell anyone. And then there was her. Why was she here? I could tell he liked her. He teased her like he had once teased me. But he must like me too. Why else would he call me and come see me everyday? And we had history. That had to count for something.

"Do you wanna see the tree house that you've 'never seen'?" He laughed.

"It does look pretty amazing from down here."

It was beginning to get dark. He led the way around the boys playing basketball. I followed closely as we walked around the bushes to the bottom of the tree. My heart pounded as I followed him up the ladder into the tree house. I could hear the boys laughing and chatting, but inside the tree house, in the dimming light, I felt so removed from the games below us.

"Well, this is the tree house," he stated with a cynical flourish. "Which of course you've never seen."

I looked around, and stopped in the center to look out the window to the coulees.

"I'm pretty sure I would of remembered being up here, if I'd ever been here before."

He stepped closer, looking me straight in the eyes. 

"Guess it was never memorable before."

I blushed. I knew what he was implying. And he was so close.

"Yes, well, maybe so. I still maintain I've never seen this before in my life." 


Unable to hold his gaze, I looked away and began to back away from him. He looked at me with such intensity; I was embarrassed. I took another step backwards, but suddenly I was stumbling into the entrance in the floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was falling. Down the ladder. And then suddenly I wasn't. His hand grasped mine as my foot found a ladder rung. My hand, in his. 

Speechless, I let him pull me back into the tree house. 

"Well that was only moderately embarrassing,"I joked. 

My hand still in his grasp, he tugged me closer. I looked up into his familiar face and let him lean towards me as he silenced my joke with a kiss.

"You should come back after everyone leaves," He whispered. 

"C-c-come back?" I stammered.

With an impish grin, "It is my birthday at midnight. My 18th. You can be the first to wish me Happy Birthday." 

He leaned forward kissing me again. And then without another word began to climb down the ladder to re-join the group.

Come back. After everyone leaves. This had to be a good sign. I took one last look out at the setting sun over the coulees. If him saving me from falling, then pulling me back up to kiss me in his childhood treehouse, as the sun set no less, wasn't romantic, I didn't know what was. And he wanted me to come back to spend his early birthday hours with him. 

"So he asked me to come back." I nonchalantly announced as my brothers and I drove home.

"You're an idiot. Don't go back there."
My brothers tone of rebuke was so sharp. Why was he mad?

"I already told him I'd come back. Its fine. Really."

My brother glared towards me, "Don't go back there. Don't be stupid."

Defensively, I snapped back, "I can't just not show up. I told him I was coming back. He asked me to come back. It's not stupid."

Abruptly, my brother parked and we all hopped out of the car.

"Yes, yes it is. Don't go back there."

"I'm going. He asked me to come back. Give me the keys."

I jumped into the driver's seat of the Explorer, angrily slamming the door behind me, despite the lack of an audience to witness my annoyance. I just don't get it. How could he be so mad at me? I didn't do anything. We used to all be best friends. I don't get why he wouldn't want that again. They became such good friends because of me. Where was the problem? Why was he being so rude about it? Why wouldn't he want things to go back to the way they were?


I obsessed as I drove towards his house for the second time that night. I felt ill with anxiety. I never did do well with people's disapproval, despite how I might play indifference. Sure, I realized that things would never be the same. Our break-up and time apart had changed me. But I still felt that we had such potential. And my hope soared at the possibility. We had known each other for almost three years, having dated for two. And I couldn't imagine our not ending up together. I knew how childish that sounded. Even in my head I could hear how foolish that was. But he was still the person I cared for the most. And ending up with my high school sweet heart was my minds ideal. There had been potential with other people, but he was the root of every comparison. The standard by which I judged my feelings and interest.


Driving up to his house, I was surprised that everything was pitch black. I parked to the side of the driveway and hopped out. I felt the darkness around me, and slowly made my way to the front door, quietly knocking and then stepping back to wait.


"Shh. I don't want my family to know you're here," he whispered from inside his dark house.


Sure. That makes sense. It's late. Technically past curfew. It has nothing to do with him wanting to keep me a secret. Keep my being here a secret. He doesn't want to get in trouble. It has nothing to do with me.


He stepped out the front door, loaded with blankets and pillows.
"Here, take some of these."


I took a handful of blankets and followed behind him as he walked around the porch to the backyard and crossed the lawn to the tramp.


"I thought we could do a little star gazing."
"That sounds fun."


We tossed the blankets onto the tramp and then climbed up. Carefully we arranged a bottom blanket and head rests, to ensure our comfort while star gazing. As we settled into each other, we lightly bantered back and forth. But I could not help but feel that I needed to know what was going on. I've never been one to push for definition. But during our time apart, I had learned what joy and security could be found in knowing exactly what you mean to someone else, rather than guessing and assuming. And I wanted to know. One minute he would treat me like we'd never broken up. He could be so charming at times. And in the next second he was giving me the cold shoulder and acting as though I had no reason to be around at all. I didn't understand.


I tried hard to sound more mature as we chatted. Like I had grown during our time apart and hadn't just been pining for him, hoping to hear some word that would indicate he still cared. But soon our conversation lulled and I laid with my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. I re-positioned and supported myself with one arm as I began to trace his features with my fingers. He relaxed into my touch and closed his eyes. There was such familiarity held within his face. I could never forget the slope of his nose, or the feel of his brows or the shape of his lips. I knew this face. I concentrated on each individual aspect and then on his face as a whole. I loved tracing the outline of his face. And I had missed the comfort of being so close with him.
He opened his eyes and brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear, leaning up to kiss me.
"Lets go sit on the deck chairs."


He grabbed my hand and an armful of blankets. Being together always felt so natural and easy. Which was why I didn't understand the games he was playing. I hated that he didn't want me to tell anyone that he came over every day during his spare. Didn't want me to mention that he was kissing me still. Would never hold my hand. It made me feel like my brothers' loser older sister, to be hanging around, and have him ignore me to flirt with someone else. Because if we weren't together, then I just looked pathetic; like I was following him around.


He laid on a lounge chair and pulled me next to him. He wrapped his strong arms around me and held me close. I wished for this moment to never end. But I knew this was it. I had to bring it up. I couldn't continue like this, never knowing if he would show me affection or indifference from one moment to the next.


"So whats going on with you and that girl?"
He turned slightly so that he could see my full face, eyebrow arched. He seemed to measure my question for a moment.
"Her? Nothing really. We're probably gonna start dating."


I stiffened in his arms. And slowly sat up, to face him more fully. He said it so nonchalantly but it jarred me to my core. His arms, around me. His voice telling me he was going to be dating someone else soon. Had he not just kissed me, not even two minutes ago?


"What?" I couldn't help but let some of the hurt slip into my face and voice. "Then why am I here?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Because I wanted you to come over. Why? Are you upset?"


"You don't get it."
And he didn't. How could he be so nonchalant? So callous in his approach. So blunt. 'We're probably gonna start dating.' Like I really was one of the boys asking and not a girl that he had been kissing and who he knew cared for him. "I don't understand. Why?"
I had real feelings. And he was acting like this should be no surprise to me. Everyday this week he had called me and visited me. Kissed me. He asked me to come spend time with him. What was I supposed to think was going on? That we were just old friends catching up?


He measured my face again, as he considered the question. "We don't work right now. We can't date. Maybe in the future things might change. But right now, we don't work. Maybe in the future."


My insides began to go cold, but even after everything, I still felt like we could talk about anything.


"Well, at least she's better than your last girlfriend," I offered. 


I still had such an overwhelming feeling that I didn't want him to see just how much he had hurt me and continued to hurt me. So I defaulted to pretending I was fine with everything. Like I had been for the last year. Pretending that I hadn't been hoping for a different outcome than the one he was offering me.


"Ha. Didn't like my last girl, huh?"
"She was nice," I hedged. "It just was... she was... so different from me. And I couldn't reconcile how you could go from dating me to dating her. You broke up with me for her."
"HA! Ya, she definitely wasn't my type, but I felt like dating her. Wanna know something? When I started dating her I already knew when I would break up with her. I just knew I didn't really like her. But she definitely didn't see it coming."


Callous. Cruel. Selfish.


My insides began to turn to stone. 


I sat across from him, as he bantered about this new girl and that old girl. But all I wanted to know was why if we were so comfortable with each other and so close - he still spoke to me so openly - why we couldn't be together. 


"I still don't get why we can't date."
I didn't realize I had said it out loud until I looked up and saw his face. He looked at me with a small smirk and pity. 
"I'm just saying. We dated for two years. And we're still able to talk and be so close. I just don't see why we can't date."
"I guess we dated for two years. But it's not like that really meant anything. It wasn't a big deal. And the timing isn't right for us. It never really was. But maybe in the future. We'll have to see."


Two years. Didn't mean anything. That was not my take on the situation. I just couldn't believe that he didn't care for me. How could he say that it meant nothing? Sure, we weren't perfect, but we fit together. And he had told me once that being with me was the closest he'd ever been to being in love. And I still felt that way. 


Then again, he wasn't saying we'd never work out. Just that right now it wouldn't work. Timing. I never had good timing.


"You know its getting late..." he trailed off. 
I was being dismissed. Apparently, he was done talking about things.
"Oh, sure. Right. I guess I should go home."


I helped him carry the blankets into the pool room. I let him wrap his arms around my waist, pull me in closer and kiss me one last time.
"Happy Birthday," I whispered as we pulled apart.


My thoughts whirled as I walked in the darkness around the house towards my car. I started the engine, letting it heat up for a moment. And then put the car in drive, letting the conversation run through my head for what surely would not be the last time. I knew that I had appeared so calm while it was all happening. But I never could process things immediately. It took time for them to sink in. 


He was going to start dating her. I felt hollow, like all the emotions had been drained from my body and nothing was left. I felt deflated. My hopes lay dashed around my feet. Alone, I could process the night. He said maybe in the future. But from deep within my heart a feeling began to surface. I knew that we were over. He no longer valued my feelings or our time together. Two years had meant absolutely nothing to him. He had talked of our time together, and vicariously my feelings, like they were worthless and irrelevant. We had dated for two years for crying out loud. I still distinctly remembered him telling me how much he cared for me. But now I could think of nothing but his glib tone, as he said we hadn't been serious. 


And I hated him for it.