Single and seductive???


New me, new tricks 
Place: My I-just-got-dumped New York trip

Time: 28 hours past The Separation; The Feast Day Of Saint Patrick


I walk in the direction of home

spiltI walk in the direction of home.

I know the path paths where you live, where sometimes I got to live, a place where sometimes we would walk to together along this path.

I think you’re there now. 

I stop in the yogurt place, like we would. I don’t wait for you to try a gross flavor like Black Cherry. I order something. I walk out. 

I remind myself: I don’t live at that place anymore; I don’t belong on that side of the street anymore; I don’t have reason to cross that way anymore. I dissect the large and overwhelming triangular intersection with fresh, wide eyes, unsure of where to turn. Staring at the blinking, red hand, I am unbalanced, and my spoon falls to the gravel.

I pick it up. Three miles to go; your sink within three minutes reach. I imagine texting you with this emergency: “Please, I need to wash my spoon before the froyo melts!” I laugh at how perfect the incident, the perfect anecdote of your perception of a flighty, silly me. 

It’s a cold and misty Monday night in March. No one walks from Harvard to Boston. The sidewalks are all mine.

confessions · happy

It slipped 

“I don’t hate you, I love you,” I said comforting him in response to his jest, the sounds sliding off my lips before I even knew what words they would form. The flow was uninhabited, unplanned, unexpected.
In reaction to their sound, I giggled guiltily, a little girl reacting to the admission of dirty words. As the moment raced by, I looked up at the mirrored wall and caught the end of his laugh in his reflection.

confessions · sad

Naked underneath my clothes

I’m at my most vulnerable, standing alone, waiting for the train, reflecting on how my boyfriend doesn’t love me, searching for words to draw my feelings so that I can write an eloquent blog post so I can justify my disappointment with the production of art satisfying enough to balance the lack of love, and the most unrequited crush of my life is walking towards me.
His eyes are still sea blue. He still swaggers with a dumb, big lipped smile. And he’s wearing a predictable Burberry coat. He’s so shallow.
Heart is thumping. After all these years, it thumps still. Today, a little more lightly than the time before.

If only he could read my thoughts. My thoughts of unrequited love, then and now. Then again, he wouldn’t care to do so.