There is a moment when you’re laying awake in a man’s bed at 2 AM in the morning and you can’t sleep and you have no clue why. A man you like, and might have feelings for, who shared a similar sentiment, mind you. There’s a moment where you stare at the sleeping giant with a purposeful three foot space between you. Your nerves are going crazy and you don’t know why you are so unsettled. There is a moment at 4 AM when his phone illuminates in the darkness, the glare makes you squint and the caller ID reads, ‘Wifey’. You blink and it’s 4:30 and you don’t really care what that means, but you know that as soon as you shower, you are out of here. There is no way you’re staying here. There is absolutely no fricking way you’re ever coming back to this apartment.
The longer you lay there attempting to melt into the mattress, the angrier you get. At 5 AM you’re effing mad, because you had no clue ‘she’ existed. And hear’s what, you’re not mad, pissed, or angry as fvck with him, nope. You’re mad at yourself.
The good old familial curse of only seeing the great attributes in people and neglecting the bad, has you enraged. Being an honest person who respects 'face value’ and genuinity, is kicking you in your ass.
There’s a moment at 5:11 when you feel so overcome and overwhelmed by emotion, tears fall out of your eyes and you can’t get up to go in the shower because the weight of every conversation you had, that dispelled any notion of there having a woman with a title in the picture, cripples you. Your chest feels as though it has a steel beam across it and you are paralyzed in anger and guilt. Anger that would never be directed at him, but yourself. Guilt because if you knew, you wouldn’t be here, at 5:30, wrapped in sheets washed with tales.
Neglecting to ask this temporary fixture the one question you had at the tip of your tongue has you wanting to crawl into a corner. You feel like applying to KFC for a position, because clearly you are an excellent side piece. A great conversationalist, with a brain, timely wit, just the right amount of sarcasm, insane work ethic and brilliant head game. (I ain’t even gonna front cause is #30DoT).
Merely a pawn in an elaborate chess game, despite you knowing you are a Queen and you are the most powerful piece on the board.
There’s a moment at 5:50 when you finally sit up, swing your feet off the side of the bed, wipe your face, go into the kitchen and wash the wares, wipe the counters, talk to a girlfriend on the phone about everything, except what’s happening and send his roomie for bread.
There’s a moment at 6:40 when you pack your bag, get your toothbrush and head into the shower and allow the water to wash away the last of your hot, furious tears. And as 6:55 creeps up on you, you decide then and there to move the hell on. With your life, your spirit, your energy.
But how the ass do you do that? After you leave this apartment, how are you cordial? How do you work in the same circles with mutual acquaintances? How do you get it together? How the fvck do you really do any of it?
You can’t call the one person you want to because she told you to watch your ass and you didn’t listen, and here you are now. Slapping on coconut oil thinking about all she said in caution and you can’t talk to her because she’s close to the situation.
There’s a moment at 7:38 where you strap on your bag and you take a deep breath and start the process of forgiving yourself.
You forgive yourself for being stupid and naive. You forgive yourself for being too amiable. You forgive yourself for not listening to your intuition. You forgive yourself because if you don’t, there is no way you can move on. There’s no way you can heal and get back in the ring if you don’t forgive yourself. Forgiving does not mean forgetting, because for sure you can’t let this happen again, but you will truly benefit if you apologize.
There’s a moment in the present, when you sit and appreciate this learning curve.
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