Hello Summer

An End by @sleepingbeautycello

John wants to talk to me. I know what he's going to say.

He thinks I don't know he's been going out with that blonde lifeguard on the side, but he's a lot more transparent than he knows. I don't believe she knows you like I do... what he doesn't realize is that all she wants is a summer fling. Or maybe he does realize that, and that's what he wants, the freedom to be able to do that and come back to me in September. But I don't think so. He's going to break up with me, and I have no power to stop him.

Today is my birthday: July 17. You always said, the day that you would leave me... exactly six months offset from our anniversary. He used to joke about it, say flowers would count as a birthday gift, so I had two birthdays, just like the queen of England. A cute joke, and if it makes it easier for him to remember my birthday I'm fine with it. But if he thinks it's okay to dump me on my birthday then he's got another think coming.

"Meg," he calls, but I don't answer. I don't wanna lose you now... let me just sit here, savoring the last few minutes I have as your girlfriend, even though you're in a different room. I plug my earbuds into my phone and set it on shuffle.
And before you break my heart in two, there's something I've been trying to say to you...
Fate has a cruel sense of humor, I think, and drag my fingers through my hair.

The song finishes and I take my earbuds out. Time to get this over with.

"Meg," he starts, but I'm not listening. I already know what he's going to say. And he says it: "I think we should break up."

I tried to say I love you, but the words got in the way...

I nod, wanting to say so much, my throat is stuck, and the tears come, and he turns and walks out the door without looking back once.

Involuntarily I follow him out into the street, barefoot, chilly in the evening air, and watch as he drives away.

////

What's better after a breakup than listening to cheesy ballads on repeat while eating ice cream.
The moon is full, my arms are empty...

"...all night long, how I've pleaded and cri, hi-i-i-ied," I warble.

I consider having a few beers, but then, "Eh, better not." I don't want to be drunk and have no memory of what happened on my birthday.
John, John, John...
No. I have to stop thinking about him. You can be strong, girl. You can do this.
Your temperamental moody side, the one you always tried to hide from me...

"Stop!" I yell, feeling the overwhelming urge to throw something. My eyes land on my pillow, and I grab it and begin beating it against the wall, tears streaking down my cheeks. Did he break up with me because I got lazy about makeup? At least I don't have any mascara to ruin with crying.

But it's locked deep inside and if you look in my eyes, we might fall in love again...

Does he want love? Or does he just want minimal drama and maximum sex?

I've run out of energy and slump onto my bed. Life sucks, so why do we keep living? Is it self-flagellation, or do we truly believe that it gets better? Intellectually I know that romantic comedy relationships are totally unrealistic, but I guess emotionally I believe that they exist in real life and that I could have one. Why, when everyone my age shies away from commitment, when I don't think I'll be able to afford to have kids (let alone send them to college in this country), when I don't even know what my life will be like in ten years?

I have to stop listening to these songs. It isn't helping. Why do singers always know what's going on in the deepest corners of our hearts?

////

I'd loved him since the first moment I saw him, freshman year of college, Russian class. Despite having been a little cynical about "love at first sight," I took one look at John and knew he was the one. It took him three years even to acknowledge my existence; I should have realized it wasn't worth it.
Wasn't worth it? Were all those dates, those kisses, those hours spent together not worth it?

They were. I'd rather have one kiss from him than anything else in the world.

That's not what you said.

I drag a hand across my sweaty forehead, wishing he were here. Counterproductive, because if he were here I wouldn't need cheering up, and we'd probably be looking at our phones -- that was my mistake. I should have limited the time we spent on our phones and online, looking at other people's highs and comparing them to our lows, the screen's blue light luring us away from each other toward "better" options.

I stand up, swaying, and wander out the door and down onto the beach. What a great house I have here, right next to the beach. My life is perfect, you say. I live in California, right outside LA, one of the biggest cultural centers in America, I have a good job, steady job, I can live comfortably... fanfuckingtastic, isn't it, with no one to share it with. And I can throw myself into my work, get promotions, earn more and more money, but there's a point at which it becomes meaningless without love, and I think I've already reached that point.

I lift my face to the wind, tasting the salt spray. Nights in the West always cool down a lot from daytime temperatures compared to other regions of the country. "Here comes that cold day in July," I sing softly, lifting my arms and spinning until I fall down into the sand from dizzyness.

And despite the fact it's hurting me, I know the time has come to set you free... but if you want me I'll be around forever.