Break ups in cars with questions

This week has been difficult. And I know you would love to hear me tell you that. That I miss you. That I’ve needed to message you. That this shit is hard without you.

Why do we need a reminder that someone truly loved us, when we know they did, we felt they did, and being away from that is simply going to be difficult, tough, and full of moments we just don’t want to sit through.

And now that we are no longer speaking, it seems like all the answers were in the car that day. And frustratingly I didn’t ask any of the questions.

I was set on a path, unable to think beyond the thought I had had and was ready for. Unable to think beyond breaking up, now, in the car, get this done. Everything you said, although I remember nodding like it made sense, I can’t remember any of it for the life of me.

And I could have asked you everything and anything. And you would have answered. Like how long do you think we should stop speaking for. What will you think if I hang out with your friends. Really what is it that frightens you. Who is it you are trying to please. Why didn’t we make this work.

Miss Mess


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Going through and through and through our reckoning

I started to imagine we would have the most incredible, last night together. You moving out next Wednesday and our future over since last Thursday. In our fickle, forever relationship, I pictured one, last fun, full of conversation night. I clung to, even the thought of, one last night tripping with you. 

Oh, but you tore me apart. Punched me in my stomach a few times these past two weekends. I don’t know if I can ever forget what you did.

I’m well aware, I’m the one who broke up with you, via text, lest I forget. I’m the one who told you verbatim: I can’t speak to you; can’t be with you; can’t see you.

Those words were cumulations of so much pain, so much pain that I couldn’t handle alone anymore. I was/am in such a dark place that I needed the distance, to take care of myself and to not take you there too.

And you never, not even once asked that we stay together. Instead whenever I feebly attempted to talk about it, you always said: whatever you want.

Whatever I want, means you made a choice. A choice to let me choose.

I love you beyond words, any words that I could perfectly piece together and write to you. But neither you, or I, should be going through this misery.

Miss Mess


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It felt mean, because I thought it was mean

Tonight was the worst.

I felt like he punched me straight in my stomach.

I had no idea who the girl was who answered his phone.

It was unintentional. Poorly planned. Hours of partying, bathroom powder breaks. Unwinding of a tough work week.

Whatever it fucking was, it was mean.

Miss Mess


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This one is for you P

I’m having those thoughts again. Sad, lonely, empty heart, thoughts.

Sad that he wasn’t the person for me. What I needed was consistency and daily connection. It was simple, I needed daily connection. When I finally understood he couldn’t give me that, I didn’t suddenly feel a sense of clarity, instead it pained me. It really hurt.

Lonely that the person I loved so deeply didn’t give me the things I needed. I stayed available but unfulfilled. It frightened me that I couldn’t open myself up to someone else, because of the place I kept hidden from others, but ready, for him.

My heart felt empty. I saw how I could lose someone who was giving me what I needed, who was available, attentive, complimentary, creative, and I couldn’t let him in fully. I couldn’t fill him into that space within me. That felt sad, lonely, empty heart.

Miss Mess


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Lesson #4257: ask for what you want

How can you improve me? What can you teach me about life? Do you want to take this journey with me? What can you give me? What can you do for me?

I want you to make me feel confident, beautiful; make me feel like I am your priority. Make me smile. I want you to support me through my job troubles, family troubles, anxious troubles. Protect me. Be with me. I want you to be consistent and consistently available.

My belief was that feeling the love he had for me was enough. His love for me was all I should want. All I could expect. All I deserved.

I would be too demanding, too much of a gold digger, too arrogant, if I expected or asked for more, for anything. So instead of asking for a big house with a pool and friends in Connecticut, I said, that’s nice he knows people there. Instead of asking for good morning messages, I sent them to him. Instead of getting his support and kindness for what I was going through with my job, I told him I understood how his move after living here for 6 years would feel confusing.

Miss Mess


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Poetic Sadness

It was the strangest thing. Thinking about getting to the place where I would be okay, where I would no longer be sad, where I would move on from him, – made me cry. It made me inconsolable.

Was it because I was giving up on him, on us, on him being the person for me?

It could have been because someone had done it to me, and I thought about how much that hurt. I remembered the definite cuts and bruises that caused. In times past, they had left me on read, moved on from me, got engaged, got married, brought his wife to my best friend’s wedding, lived with his new girl, lived his life without me.

Honestly, It wasn’t so much that. That made me detached and nervous. But at the end of the day, I got my hair done with my ex’s wife, we all danced, and the next day I shrugged about how odd it was.

But this immovable sadness was definitely something different, stifling and untouchable. It was misery brought on by joy with another. It was seeing the last few sentences of the last page of a good book. Punch and pushes into my chest that we would be no more. Breathless, final and desolate. We would not get to live my romanticized, controlled, perfectly planned out, thought to the end, his and my, love story.

Miss Mess


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One Summer Wedding

They left the dance floor, went through the kitchen and took the hidden steps up to the expansive roof in the middle of downtown LA. It was completely empty when they got up there. It was still light out, the sun was setting and the sky had that infamous LA pink tinge.

“Okay I promise the kids were all here. They were all smoking cigarettes, that’s why I brought you up here, I know you had a pack on you… Wow, I feel like I’m trying to trick you, how embarrassing.”

She looked around, shrugged, confused. She gently shifted up the corner of her dress to help her walk easier, holding out her other hand to him, “come let’s go back.” Her arm extended, she turned again looking for the exit.

“You aren’t?” He stood his ground and gripped her hand, firmly for the first time that day. His eyes twinkled mischievous.

She turned 180, almost clumsily, frowning and serious, “no promise, I’m really not.”

Before she had a chance to understand his tone, she saw his eyes pierce hers, he pulled her to him, and reached with his other hand, sliding his fingers softly through her hair.

She let go of her dress. Reached both her hands to his face. Her lips parting making an O sound. She was engulfed in his arms. Her heart beating fast. The air musky and light.

Miss Mess


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