He’s the sort of guy I would have fallen in love with last year or maybe when I was 21. If my friends met him they’d exchange knowing glances because he fits the bill from personality down to worn hoodies and scruffy shoes. I know I’d have to defend myself. He’s wrapped up living ambitions and there’s something about an unshaven man furiously typing with black coffee or a cold beer by his side. I’m a sucker for wandering nomads, the emotionally unavailable, writers, artists and strays. Or, at least I used to be.
These days I can barely bring myself to flirt with the idea. I draw a circle in the sand and I sit cross-legged in the middle smiling up at the shadows that hover by the edge. I fill my pockets with love stories, how they met stories, how they knew it was right stories and I hide all the crumpled break up stories in my purse. When I’m alone I take them out and line them up one by one. The heartbreak flattened and smoothed out in front of me. I don’t believe in happy endings. I want to, but life proves time and again that if it seems happy it isn’t the end, yet. Just wait and see.
That’s okay, though. Heartbreak is far more interesting. I like the relationships that get tarnished and buried in dirt. I like the couples you see walking down the street laden down with lies, barely moving, barely getting one foot in front of the other. There is something about the seams showing, the stuffing falling out, the nose and fur worn down and one of the little black eyes missing that makes me want to hug a bear all the more. There is something beautiful in the broken down and falling apart. The remains; what love leaves behind.
I guess maybe because it’s easy to love somebody, all you have to do is let go and fall. The hard part is the aftermath, the picking up and putting together and reconstructing of yourself. The strength you either find or don’t find to move on. The mistakes you learn from or repeat again, instead.
The things you never thought you’d miss; like his cold feet on your legs or his brown hair in the sink.
All the things you knew you would miss but left behind, anyway.
Sandbox Astronomy – This Is How