Like Water Through My Fingers

Something always happens. I guess it’s not all bad, but I seem to be the only one left alone, waiting. Hurting.

I clear the picture, new spectacles for his face. He sees what he has to do with this new perspective. He sees I’m not needed. He leaves. I hurt.

I soothe his wounds. I lay his head in my lap and tell him he’s safe with me. I accept him and pass no judgment. His ex calls. She’s left her fiancé. He goes back to her. I hurt.

He says I’m his first great love. He says he still loves me, always will. He asks for my address so he can send me a wedding invitation. I hang up the phone. I hurt.

It seems I’m never enough. I want so badly to fit, my head cradled in someone’s arms.

But there are no arms, nothing to catch me.

I fall to the floor. I crash. I break. I shatter.

I hurt.

On the brighter side of things, I seem to be the female version of Dane Cook in that movie Good Luck Chuck. I’ve never seen that film; maybe I’ll watch it while I’m snowed in.

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