I discarded my on-line relationship status. It seemed official, at the time. It was a white flag of surrender, a concession, my failure exhibited to the world. After all, I had raised the bet on this one, hadn’t I? I had risked it all and lost. Who doesn’t appreciate a good sob story?
I went out that night with false bravado painted on my face in red lipstick. Laughing and flirting with abandon, I ignored the emotions bubbling just below the surface. And when I found myself staring into eyes only inches from mine I didn’t glance away. I didn’t take the habitual step back. I could feel him near me, like Big Brother, always watching. But I stood on the precipice and convinced there was no going back, I jumped.
I thought it was fun, free falling. The night was thick with sweat and promises and for a moment, anticipating freedom, I gave way to lesser desires. He was a drug, an escapist’s fantasy. I drank him in and spit him out unsatisfied. Later, still thirsty and craving affection I distracted myself with The Crush. I dangled one distraction after another in front of my heart. And yet, dancing alone on a crowded floor, slow motion crashing, I kept searching for his familiar face. A smile. A dimple I could recognize.
The next morning, I burst into the apartment, ready to show my cards. Lay it all back on the line. The bed was empty and unslept in. Surrounded by the bits and pieces, the little remainders of our love, I sit and wait. I think about the possibilities, all the crossed wires. Passing by on a crowded street, unrecognized. The day will come when I will no longer remember the crisis of faith or the doubt. I’ll only remember the night I moved on… and I will forget the morning after.