I know you said you couldn’t commit to anything more, and I’m so chill – I’m so like, I don’t care, I’m really busy anyway; I have friends and a career and stuff to do, with a big fat fake smile on my face. You didn’t do anything wrong, not really. Not if, walking into someone’s life and being so goddamn good looking and kissing like you’re gunning for an Olympic gold medal and fit as fuck in a natural way, was a crime. If it was, you’d be guilty of all sins. God…imagine if you even stepped inside a gym? You’d grace the cover of every magazine.
Don’t worry about me. In fact, weeks have passed and even though I sent you a couple of teaser messages; trying to find that song you played, watched the movie you talked about, hung out in places you told me you’d visited, your responses are always so polite. If Whatsapp could have ‘There, there, now’ emoji’s – with a pat on the head, that would be your emoji to me.
But you’re so nice; you’re so smart, you’re so charismatic and so down to Earth and honest. You’d think people like you wouldn’t even end up with people like me, yet you told me – sober, that you really liked me. You even hinted that we may see each other again.
As if that was ever going to happen. Is that what people say when they leave a bed these days? Is that the ‘I’ll call you’ line?
5 weeks, 3 days, 11 hours and 22 minutes have passed, but who’s counting? I don’t care, I really don’t. It’s not important. I’ve carried on with the mundane existence I seem to have built for myself. Sure, many consider me successful; I should be happy to have my house and my car and the company that I run, I really should be grateful for those things. But they’re just things. Things I thought were important until you entered my bed and we made love like I’d once imagined it would be like. I can’t even remember coming up for a breath of air, can you?
Oh hey, I just saw you across the street. I was about to run over, but then I realised you weren’t alone, you were standing with someone and the way they looked at you, it must have been how I looked at you as you kissed me, while caressing me tenderly. I stopped myself and didn’t come to say hi. I even thought – maybe even just for a flicker in time – that you saw me and turned the other way. Even as I then continued walking along the path, no longer as excited to get that new pair of shoes I’d just seen online. No longer thinking I might go and have a coffee at that place you’d told me about.
I can’t be angry at you. You did nothing wrong. Not if being irresistible and graceful are modern day crimes. Maybe on social media they are.
Anyway, I’m not going to blame you, because I thought that our moment would carry on into ever-fucking-lasting fuck-full of memories. That’s on me.
But anyway, really, go fuck yourself. Right after you go fuck the prettier person beside you.
- From the Book of Broken Love Songs – Fox Emerson, Coming Soon
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