No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t stop writing about him. Memories of him lived in everything I wrote, from songs to poetry to fiction—I could see him in every word I wrote. I couldn’t escape him, no matter how much I tried to get over it, tell myself lies, and move on with my life.
I stared at my computer screen, cursor blinking back at me, more patient than I could ever be. I had the words in my head, but I didn’t want to write them. Of course, they were about him, and I was so sick of him. Why couldn’t I get over this?? Why couldn’t I just accept the fact that he never loved me and that now he’s in love with someone else?
I sighed in frustration, and looked away from my computer to take in the coffee shop around me. The Roastery, situated right along Washington Ave, provided me with the perfect distraction—either to people watch or to watch the traffic out the window.
But I couldn’t get my mind off him. Even after all these months… my gut would still clench every time I saw him at church, and my heart would stop, then start painfully beating again. He was always in the back of my mind, and at random times, some of the memories I had with him would spring to the forefront of my mind, and leave me breathless in agony and desire.
But it was just one person after another. Every person I had ever loved, and not just romantically, had deserted me at least once. Forgotten to call, purposely avoided me, became an enemy overnight, and he was no exception. Honestly, there would probably never be any exceptions. It always went wrong.
But I always felt like it was somehow my fault. Was has every one of my friends been flirted with and asked out at, sometimes multiple times. Why were they noticed and not me? What was I doing wrong?
I watched people coming into the shop without even seeing them. My mind was off in another world, and my drink grew cold beside me, but not as cold as the ice forming around my heart.
I wanted to be married, and start a family young. I really didn’t want to have a career—I just wanted to be a mom. But, if nobody’s ever interested in you, then… dreams shattered. But I was used to it. Far too used to it.
All I wanted was an adventure. Someone as daring and risky as I was, who was laid back and fun to be around—someone who could make me laugh.
Ha! But what’s the point of dreaming anymore? It’ll never happen. I’ll just end up being one of those 50 year-old women who looks back on the life of a miserable spinster, and curses existence and life. But for that part, I don’t have to wait—I’m already cursing it.
