My phone has a life of its own. Tinder is a whole new experience for me and I am quite popular, it seems. It’s less than exciting, but whatever works.
A booty call incinerates me from the ground up, but it’s difficult to walk around smoldering all the time. Don’t judge…I’m coping and it’s working. It’s been invaluable in helping me melt myself back together. I got my heart broken falling in love with Mr. Perfection, again.
Old habits die hard, my friends and I am a huge glutton for punishment when it comes to he who wields the whisk.
Being stupid in love with someone you know is not in love with you, is an act of insanity. I knew he was coming to visit this summer and I promised myself I would close my eyes and head back out to the garden to pull weeds. It was hell the last time I’d seen him and we were finally friends again so a huge part of me wanted to avoid him, altogether.
The same way I don’t casually smoke anymore… I wanted to abstain from my love affair with Perfection.
I just couldn’t.
Miss Lovely and Mrs. Gorgeous talked me into going to a show where he’d be. I tried to decline. I really did. I had long talks with myself about the state of my heart where he was concerned. The juice was not worth the squeeze, and I knew it. That didn’t stop me either. Five years had left me vulnerable and he’d been the center of my fantasies for a very long time. Both intentionally and otherwise.
I wanted to see him. I didn’t care about the cost and I knew it would be steep. I put the right panties on that evening, knowing he’d be the one taking them off. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
Just seeing him gives me butterflies and makes my mouth dry. I knew I should leave as soon as he said hello and touched my hand. I smiled at him and his cologne hit me as he moved close to hug me. I held my breath. It didn’t help. I hate beards and he is looking quite Amish… but the truth about women is that we hold no standards or restrictions for the men we love most. He could look like he’s part of the Duck Dynasty family and I would still adore him. He’s my Perfection. All my filters are disabled and I’m throwing every single standard and rule I have, out the window.
I knew I was welcoming suffering when I felt him grab my fingertips and pull me over to take a shot with the rest of them. The lines were getting blurry and he was morphing into the version of him that I love most. Unfortunately, that guy only shows up when he’s drunk.
P- You look really good. I’ve missed you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch.
J- I’m sorry you’re going to wind up in my bed tonight.
It’s different when you are emotionally intimate with someone and he’s been there for me as a friend through some of the most horrible times. He is my walking-talking-dream guy when he’s 6 inches away, but he’s a few thousand miles away and he quickly becomes my football pal and the reason I cry over mimosas with my best friend, Miss Fancy.
Back in the friend zone… bleeding from the heart and drowning in regret. He’s gone in the wind from the moment his flight takes off.
I’m ashamed of myself for immediately throwing all my lessons out the window and forgetting that the past repeats itself if you forget the lessons you were supposed to learn the first time.
I will love again, I can still be and feel sexy and someday, hopefully in the not too distant future, I’ll stop thinking about him every time a sad song comes on. I deleted him out of my phone, off the iPad and just away.
I gave his text tone to the man who curls my toes and I set myself free from waiting. It’s the only grown thing to do because happiness begets happiness, and he only makes my heart ache. In a perfect world, it’d be completely different, but here we are and here it is.
It’s finally behind me and I can look at my bed again without feeling hollow. Say what you will, but I do believe the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else and a friend did for me what I could not do for myself. He erased the touch that was haunting me by blowing my mind, kissed me blind so I could forget and reminded me that I want far more than to be a vacation highlight.
Sometimes it’s heartache that heals the most.