I had wanted to participate in this short story anthology. I was encouraged to by a few writer friends, but once again Imposter Syndrome sunk her claws into my back and dragged me to the place where I was comfortable. Too comfortable.
The anthology was about love and how some people aren’t meant to be. I could call myself a seasoned vet on that subject. Most of the relationships I had been involved in required convincing in order for me to participate. And the ones I willing fell into, I either wasn’t respected or the other party didn’t feel the same connection that I did.
(I mean, I still wrote it, but I chickened out sending it in, so I may upload it here if enough people are interested, ahem)
It was a subject that was calling my name. But perhaps, like the prompt of the anthology, it just wasn’t meant to be. As a spiritual bitch, I obviously could convince myself of that and remove all guilt and shame for not following through on a project that I had felt so deeply connected to.
Because the reality of this perfectly-timed anthology is… that I fell head over heels for someone, even to this day not being able to get his damn face and fiery energy out of my mind. But he has no idea because I can’t communicate that. I can’t just hit him up with a “hey, these are all of my feelings”. I’m at the point where I’m not even sure relationships make sense? At least, not with me being a party in them.
No matter how many signs and synchronicities keep popping up that point back to him, maybe this is just one of those Right Person, Wrong Time things, because while I know I’m on his mind too, I just don’t know if two people with equal parts hope and damage could really come together and create something sustainable without creating more damage. Especially if we both have doubts and can’t even talk about our feelings.
It isn’t like the butterflies I would get when he first kissed me, or the way his eyes were glued to me while I was working. It isn’t in the way he needed to maintain physical contact every time we spent the night – and I’m not a cuddler, but I let him. It’s the fact that we haven’t spoken since February and yet I can still remember him pulling me in for that last embrace before we mutually ghosted each other. It’s the fact that we still gravitate back toward each other, no matter how much time has passed between each reunion, but we can’t even articulate the things going on in our heads. It’s this big feeling in my chest that I don’t even know what to do with, so it’s just sitting there like another useless appendix, because the idea of telling him makes me want to run away into a forest and smash my phone so I won’t hear from him again.
I don’t even know what would be worse; either he tells me that while he misses me, he doesn’t feel the same… or he does and we’re both standing in front of each other like idiots because I don’t think either one of us knows what to do with that feeling.
I’ve never been good at relationships to begin with, I always fell into them. I don’t know how to date or be a girlfriend. All I know is what my dumbass heart is telling me. And its telling me that I’ll never forget the way he played the part of the hero for me multiple times, or the way he was at my doorstep when I was cheated on and just needed someone to smoke me out, or how he would kiss my skin when he was sleepy and probably thought I was asleep, or how his go-to drink was coldbrew with honey, just like his eyes which always found their way to me.
Raine August 