December 6 – Love Letter
You are perfect to me. I want to hold you, wrap my arms around you. Caress you and kiss you. Sleep beside you, curled up, the big spoon spooning the smaller spoon.
Mould my body to your body. Hug you close. Become one with you.
I want to know that I can proudly walk with you hand in hand. I want to love you and to be loved by you.
And while I partly hate feeling this way – the anxiety, the wondering, the yearning to see you again – at the same time, I love feeling this way. Because it means that you’re special to me.
And I hope you feel the same way.
And I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
I want to be numb. To not feel the pain.
But I also want to phone you. To hear your voice. To touch you. To kiss you. To devour you again.
Why don’t you want that? Did you even care about me at all? How did it all go to hell so quickly? I guess that’s the definition of pulling the plug, like ripping off a bandaid, but it still leaves me dazed and confused, scratching at the bottom of the tub as the last drops of water swirl down the drain.
Asking questions – What happened? Why did you do it? Did you mean any of the things you said to me?
Why can’t we give it another go? See if there’s something there….?
Or if not, can you make this hurting stop? This longing stop?
So I can move on and find someone who actually loves me and treats me well.
I don’t want to cry for you anymore.
I’ve shed too many tears.
I want someone who makes me feel the way I felt with you, without the insecurity.
Without the uncertainty, the constant cancelling, the walls up around your heart.
There was so much potential with us. There was so much hope.
I want someone in whom those feelings can be fully realized. Who treats me the way I deserve to be treated.
I’m a good catch. I don’t treat people poorly. I think about what I do.
I would never take my girlfriend on a date, on her belated Christmas present date, just to break up with her there.
That’s not something I would do.
But that’s something you would do.
Something you did. And maybe that means
that this was all for the best.
I just want to snuggle under blankets on the couch, watch the hotness that is Alex Kingston on ER, and eat a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream.
I don’t even care what brand.
I just want to cry. To cry and not stop and not have anyone comfort me.
To cry to the point that my shoulders shake, my sobs begin to crack, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.
Get it out.
Get it out.
Get it all out.
April 15 – Reflection
I didn’t date a lot growing up, even though I wanted to. But I wasn’t ever really good at dating. One of the problems may have been that I was trying to date boys. But now, having had three girlfriends, part of me hates dating and not for the reasons you’d think. Not for the awkwardness. Not for the break ups or the waiting by the phone or the anxiety of not knowing what the other person is thinking.
No, what I hate most are the memories that swoop down and slap you in the face as you’re going about your day, minding your own business. You pass that patio where you and your first girlfriend had beers in the summer and you walked back to your place hand in hand, she a bit nervous even about that because she was from a small town and would never do that there.
You pass that store where girlfriend #2 worked, that you frequented before you’d even met her. Although maybe you did meet her before. Maybe she served you and she was so meek and mild that you didn’t even notice her.
You glance up as you walk to the subway and see a girl of similar build, wearing the same coat as your last girlfriend. The girlfriend who broke your heart. In public. The girlfriend you’re still not really over even thought you think you are. And the weight comes crashing down, into the pit of your stomach. The memories slice you. And all for a coat. A stupid, black, faux-fur trimmed winter coat.
Kaitlin Bardswich –https://kaitlinbardswich.ca