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Anonymous Café
Houston, TX
April, 7 1998
□■□□□■□■□■□■□■□■□“Love is like a contractual agreement,” Your sister had told you once, “you promise to be faithful and love him, and in return, he is faithful and loves you. It’s a very simple concept at its core.” You were only eleven when she began to shed her wisdom and insights on love, and since you were so close, you ate up every lie she fed you.
In the end, she never knew anything about love. She probably never even felt it. She just wanted to give you hope. Hope that maybe love in your life would be different. She had just called off her engagement to her boyfriend after finding out he was married. That was the hardest day of her life. And though it wasn’t hard for you in the same sense as it was to her. It taught you something more valuable than she ever did.
It taught you that she had no idea what love is. She never knew, and your whole life she kept telling you that love was perfect and happy, but in reality, love was messy and complicated, and it hurt more than it healed.
At least, that’s how Dijon was.
After you realized your sister was giving you false hope, you did what no twenty-something year old should do; you settled.
You settled with your high school sweetheart even though you knew the flame was dying. Even though you were unhappy most days and alone most nights. You settled. You settled because this must be love. If love isn’t perfection and bliss, then this must be it. This must be as good as it gets.
“Are you ready to order, Miss?” The waitress asked as she strolled up to your table.
“Sorry,” You shook your head, “a few more minutes, please? I’m waiting on someone.”
The waitress gave you a kind smile, but you could already see the pity behind her eyes. You tried going to this restaurant with Dijon last week, but he canceled last minute. The unfortunate part was that it was the same waitress as last week, and it’s like deja vu, being forced to relive the embarrassment of that night.
“Take your time,” The young woman said, before strolling off, no doubt to tell her coworkers how sad it was to watch you sit there all alone, again.
You let out a breath, trying to calm yourself so you didn’t end up crying. That’d just make it all the more embarrassing when you inevitably would have to leave, most likely without your dignity.
YOU ARE READING
On The Down Low (Imagines)
RomanceBook full of imagines/short stories involving your favorite black women from any era.