It's So Weird

I missed him so much and it is so hard every single day, when it is supposed to be getting easier but really, it is not at all, to remember to expend the effort to not be in touch, to not let myself read his old emails as a second-rate substitute for actual real-time communication, to not let myself think, and then linger on, good memories of him, or even bad memories, or even any memories at all. 

I cried so hard my eyes were bright red and weirdly poofy the next day, and I had to wear my black thick-rimmed glasses to work and even that didn’t hide it.  People kept looking at me, sympathetically, and then quizzically, their heads cocked, and I just kept repeating monotonously, “I’m really tired.  Didn’t sleep well last night,” squinting my eyes tightly to try to hide their poofiness.  They shrugged their shoulders and looked…anywhere.  Down.  Away.  So I tried to smile harder, to show them that, really, I am okay.  See?  I’ll be fine…

Three and a half interminably long weeks later, on my first date with Seth*, he kept asking me questions; he wanted information about me, wanted to get to know me, know everything about me.  I kept saying:  “I’ll tell you in time,” or something like that, and then finally I said, now serious:  “You’ll have to earn that.”

And he stopped questioning me, looked at me hard and said:  “Ok.  Earn.  I can do that.”

And I thought:  He really can.  And then:  Maybe I should let him. 

And then I thought, I can’t believe I was/am confident enough to say/mean/believe that.  But guess what?  I am.  And I did.

I like the idea of a guy rising to a challenge for me.  I like the idea that I am a challenge, something to be won.  A prize.  A reward.  For treating me in a certain careful way.  For having the kindness, and patience, to coax the trust, and love, out of scared, trembling, hurt girl.