Wednesday, November 2, 2016


She had a good feeling she was going to be ghosted by Piz.  It was the middle of the week and she hadn't heard a peep from him.  She had deleted her dating profile so she couldn't check and see if he was still checking it.  She knew he was though.  A few times he had popped up on her Facebook sidebar, liking a status or two.  She shared everything that she had been doing that week with gusto.  She wanted to make sure he knew she wasn't sitting around pining away for him.

Of course, that's all she really wanted to be doing.  She wanted to have time to get over it.  But instead she was early voting, having dinner with friends, and going to see a show.  In-between, she was trying to control the near-constant panic attack.  She drank shots of lemon juice to shock her system into somehow stopping freaking out.

She hated being HSP and yet totally logical.  She had gone her whole life without Piz, it would be effortless to continue on without him.  She had seen things in him that had made it clear that they wouldn't last anyway.  His teeth were funny.  His open mouthed smile was sometimes disconcerning. It showed his uncertainties, his weakness. He wasn't, in the end, going to be strong enough for her.  He was too similar to her ex in that sense.  It would have never lasted.

And yet, he made her feel alive when they were together.  He was so passionate, he kissed her like he was getting oxygen from her.  Like his life depended upon the next kiss.  She could get drunk on his attention.

He had noticed her birthmark on her shoulder one night, had called it an arrowhead shape.  He traced it with his fingers the way she traced the turtle tattoo on his arm earlier that same night.  She was obsessed with his adorable sailor tattoos and thought the meaning behind each was great.  She asked one night if the turtle had a name.  He said that he didn't, but she could name him.  Since he was right below his "Rebel Scum" tattoo, she named him Luke.

Whenever she had gotten up in the middle of the night and gotten back into bed, if he was awake or asleep, he'd always take her into his arms.  He had made her heart melt.  Then harden.  She felt like a half-melted chocolate that someone had thrown in the freezer for later.  She would never be the same shape.

By Thursday she was still sad, but had calmed down.  No more panic attacks.  No more drinking to forget.  Just sad acceptance that she would never hear from him again.  She finally had space to decompress and breathe.

The dumb girl part of her brain kept saying "Maybe he'll call...maybe he will come to his senses."

The logical girl part said "Even if he did...would you even want him back?"

She had no idea.  She almost wished she never had to make that choice.

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