Tuesday, July 26, 2011
And not forgotten
It is so easy to think that you can fix things. Sometimes love can make a person naive. No matter how young they are.
It is so easy to find yourself out on the street, shouting at your ex-boyfriend who is pissed at you because you were flirting with the bartender.
You find yourself screaming at him. His name? Maybe just "Wait!" ... as he tries to hail a cab on Sixth Avenue.
It's so easy to think that you must have done something really wrong, and there has to be a way to make it up to him. Even if he IS your ex.
So you stand there, after following him out. Despite how hot that bartender actually was.
And you wind up going home with him. Despite the screaming. Despite knowing in your gut it isn't going to last. It's like you don't even care.
And you're not even drunk. You're sober enough to remember every minute of it. Every moment standing out there watching traffic fly by on that hot summer night. Even all these years later.
So you go home, and you start over. Despite the amicable break-up that ended in combined tears. Despite the sense that this would not be forever, and you shouldn't bother wasting your time. Despite your best guy friend watching you rush from the bar with eyebrows raised, knowing it would be a round trip ticket.
You move forward. Summer turns to fall. You take a trip. If there were ever a window of time that you found yourself going through the motions this was it. Your flight takes off - headed home to NYC. You find yourself in tears. You know it's over. You knew it before it started again.
You find yourselves at work the next day. Waiting. Waiting for 5 o'clock. Closing time. A quick email. Or was it a phone call? Office to office. Wait... I was in a cubicle then. Let's meet at the park. We knew the one.
Did we walk there together? This much I forget, but I know we left separately ...
This time we used fewer words. Shed fewer tears. Good bye. For real. It was over. We were through.