Waiting For The Girl.
Saying that I miss you is wrong. Not because I shouldn’t say it, or shouldn’t feel it, but because it’s not the truth. The fact is, I don’t miss you. Not one fucking bit. But I miss looking at you and seeing who you could be. I miss who I thought we would be. Now we’re just who we are, and even though I know the truth, I can’t stop lying to myself. I can’t stop thinking about what your life is going to be like now that we have parted ways. Your life, your lovers, your family. I know someday you’ll get married and have babies. You’ll give them the names we used to talk about late at night. You’ll have to have our cat put down once he’s too old and sick to live without suffering. You’ll grow old with someone, and you’ll die with them. But it won’t be with me. You won’t get it right the first time, no. For whatever reason, your first lover after me will be the opposite of me. You’ll crave someone controlling, demanding. Someone who makes all the decisions without giving it a second thought. Someone with more time on their hands, a nine to five worker you can have dinner on the table by six for. You’ll introduce him to my friends and they will all talk behind your back, but you know that already. Louis won’t like him; he won’t like cats, and he needs to be loved and have someone press their forehead into his. You’ll run to someone who cares less about you than I do. He’ll always pick the movie when you go out together, and he’ll just take you to whatever place you guys like to eat at. He won’t even think about it. He won’t even ask you what you want to see, eat, or do; and you will be relieved. You’ll move in with him, because he won’t come around to the home we shared together. He’ll think all your décor is just hippy shit, and he’ll tell you not to burn your incense. He’ll cum inside you without any thought about it. Quickly. He’ll always pick the DVD, if his team isn’t playing. He won’t cook, he won’t clean up, but that’s okay because he never did it in the first place and it’s too late to hold it against him now. He won’t pat Louis, he won’t love him, or check that his water bowls are full before he leaves. You’ll start double checking every morning. He’ll kick him away when he’s standing at the kitchen sink, something Louis has never experienced before. At one point, he’ll probably tell you to get rid of the cat, our baby, but you will stick to your guns. That might be the moment where you start to question yourself, and think back to how things were with me. But it might not be. It won’t last. I don’t know what the deciding factor will be, but you’ll leave, and he’ll hate you for it. He might get violent, and threaten Louis. He might call you up when he’s drunk or show up at your birthday dinner wasted and cause a scene. He’ll do what he knows how to do, he’ll try to control you. You might even go back, for a while. Eventually, it’ll be done, and you’ll meet the guy who’s going to be a father to those kids names we picked all those years ago. You’ll love him and he will love you, it will feel right. You’ll go to farmer’s markets together, and go to pet stores and play with the kittens that are up for adoption. You’ll get coffee at your favourite café, you might even see some friends there. He’ll be there with open arms when your family shits on you again, and he’ll make you feel better about yourself. He’ll always try to build you back up when life tears you down. You’ll have your driver’s licence, and you’ll have finished your degree. You’ll work a job that fulfils you, and you’ll come home to your mid-sized home and your mid-sized backyard with your Labrador. You won’t even discuss having a Kelpie. You’ll have forgotten me, and you’ll have put your old life behind you. You won’t remember, and neither will I. You’ll tell him that you adopted Louis when you moved out of home, by yourself. You’ll live that lie until you forget the truth. You won’t remember that the final assignment of your degree was submitted on the laptop I bought you, you won’t remember that your first minor car accident was when I was teaching you how to drive in my car. You won’t remember that you never stood up to your family. You won’t remember that you wouldn’t buy a house that wasn’t on the bus route so you could get to the job you hated. You won’t remember that you were planning your entire life around a bus timetable. Our lives. You won’t remember that you wouldn’t even look at my dream house when I tried to show you the photos. You won’t remember that I risked everything, and spent my entire share of our house deposit to start my own business to try and support our dreams, and to try and support you through your study if you had to work less hours. To be able to afford to buy a house where you wanted to live. You won’t remember that the majority of your share came from your parents. You won’t remember, and he’ll never know. He’ll never know what I went through. He’ll never know how hard it was to get you motivated to live your life. How hard it was to drag you through everyday life. How hard it was to sit there and watch you stagnate, unemployed. He’ll never know what it was like to hear all your excuses. He’ll never know what it was like to watch you get crushed by your family, and then crawl back for more. He’ll never know what it was like waiting for you to get out of your own way. He’ll never know what it was like waiting for you. Maybe I was waiting on the girl to become a woman.
