Oh,
She knows what I think about,
And what I think about,
One love, two mouths,
One love, one house,
No shirt, no blouse,
Just us, you find out,
Nothing I really wanna tell you about, no,
'Cause it's too cold (whoa)
For you here,
And now,
So let me hold (whoa)
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater,
. . . . . . . . . . .
left·o·vers
adj.
Something remaining after the rest has been used.
Have you ever had that meal from the night before, where you think it's going to be absolutely delicious, and the first bite is, but then it becomes disgusting?
Now imagine that in real life. With love. Another man.
Imagine his name is Jason, and you feel like you're in love. Imagine most nights he's with his girlfriend, and the next morning he's with you.
Leftovers is what I seem to be stuck with, and it's disgusting now. And don't remind me cheating is wrong. I know. Don't for one minute think I don't.
It's disgusting, but I enjoy it.
It's disgusting, but I'm in love.
Welcome to the nightmare that is leftovers. This is your warning, and I'd advise you listen.
Because trapped is a feeling that I do not enjoy and love.
.
When I woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing on the third Tuesday of March, the last thing I expected was leftovers. And sure, while it wasn't food, it was him. The guy I bumped into with my cart on Sunday at the market. And by bumped I mean, knocked him over.
At the time I didn't know he had a girlfriend, and I didn't think he would, with the bubblegum peonies and all.
So every morning, I would be waken by the doorbell ringing and a charming man, barely over the age of 19, on my doorstep with a delicacy ranging from flowers to chocolate to perfumes.
Then every Monday night, he took me out on a date. To restaurants, picnics, theme parks, movies, anything he'd choose. And it was always magical. Always.
And soon I was falling in love with this barely a day over the age of 19, brown-eyed, brown-haired, man.
And he was so much more too; a runner who completed the Boston Marathon in 2 hours and 44 minutes, a lover of alternative rock, someone who could pull off a sweater like nobody else, and someone who I fell in love with suddenly.
Then before I knew it he was spending the occasional night at my place and I was completely and fully in love, sinking, drowning, in it all.
Only one day in June, a week before my birthday in fact, he had just gotten into the shower when his phone vibrated. I flipped over on my stomach and reached for it from the nightstand. It was a text message, one from a contact put in as, "Kaylee<3".
I remember the way my heart dropped. Everything felt too good to be true. Like I knew it was supposed to turn bad, disgusting. Just the way leftovers go.
He returned from his shower, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, to find me sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone in my lap and my hands covering my face.
He tried to talk once he saw the message. Tried. I forced him out of the apartment, stuffing his clothes in his hands. His eyebrows arched in gloom and it broke me.
She was asking him why he was late for coffee.
I thought he was cheating on me. But apparently not.
The next day, a Tuesday, the doorbell rang at 6:30 in the morning. I opened it, I didn't think he would bother coming back, and there he was with a boquet of bubblegum peonies.
He stopped the door with his right palm before I could close it and walked himself in.
I started crying again and he wrapped his arms around me, whispering words in my ear.
Then he told me everything. He told me how Kaylee was his girlfriend and then he met me and never broke up with her.
He told me he still loved her.
And in the midst of everything, I wondered how such a perfect guy could have such a large flaw.
Now I'm stuck. I'm in love, and I'm stuck. Even after everything, I'm still in love.
I'm in love with this runner. I'm in love with this fan of alternative rock. I'm in love with this boy who claims to be in love with me.
And I'm stuck in the holes of his sweater, while his girlfriend is wrapped up in the yarn.
So imagine, his name is Jason, and you feel like you're in love. Imagine most nights he's with his girlfriend, and the next morning he's with you.
Leftovers is what I seem to be stuck with.
