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To me, love was always conditional—until her.
She’s my mirror, my judge, and has revealed herself as my sole purpose. She brought direction back to my deadening soul when I lost my way, and she continues to guide me back, a star too bright to ignore, no matter how far I stray.
There’s nothing but fire and need in my hammering chest, which is beating as hard as it was the last time I came to her with a request. Back then, I was just as fucking terrified. Terrified she’d refuse to take me back. Terrified she believed my lies. Terrified I believed them for so long, I convinced myself they were true.
Twelve years ago, I forced her out of my life. In doing so, I lost myself, my purpose, my meaning, and my fucking mind. Over half of those years I spent without her were due to fear, guilt, and self-condemnation.
I know she hasn’t rested for the same reason. Because of me and my grand entrance back into her life.
Men really piss me off
Entertain Mr. Handsome? I tame the surge of fire that threatens and decide not to start our morning conversation with “Who the fuck is Mr. Handsome?”
can’t help my grin at the sight of the French press sitting on the counter. And that’s when my chest begins to ache due to the double-edged sword that is my situation. I might be here, with her, but not in the way I want to be.
Yesterday was a big step, but as the high of my sudden appearance wore off and reality set in, I could feel her distancing herself for protection.
A fact she refused to let me deny. A fact I’ve come to embrace. The fuel I need for the fight I’m in for. “No matter how we came to be, we were and still are. You stole my heart, and you let me love you with it, and you made damn sure I knew where its home was.”
She’s sleep-deprived, shell-shocked, and seems defeated, and I hate it. I want her fight, but her game is off. And that’s on me.
Yall men are exhausting
“I had to come to you ready, Cecelia. I had to. Too many people depend on me. I had too many plates spinning. I had to plan my exit strategy and get my head together. I promise you, somehow I’ll make you understand.” “I doubt it.”
She nods, her gaze losing focus, to another time—a time where, no doubt, I’ve hurt her because that’s all I’ve ever done. “No one hates me more for what I’ve done to you, than me,”
Now hate yourself trn fold
refute the idea that I’m searching for any sign of the Camaro—for him. Yet another glance at the clock has me aggravated with the lies I’m telling myself. He dropped me off three hours ago. I know he hasn’t changed his mind. I know he’s coming back. He came back, for me. He left his life, for me.
“And so, I would very much appreciate it if you would stop fucking looking at my future as if she may be yours. The answer is no, Greg, she won’t be dining with you.”
“If you’re going to go all caveman, you can leave. That’s not going to fly here.” “Two things,” I mumble, lifting the screen to type the last of my email. “I would like a club sandwich, fries, and your phone number.” “You are such a bastard.” “Your bastard,” I remind her,
It’s the ache of wanting her. It’s the need to erase the distance, not just physically but emotionally.
It’s clear within just a few hours of being here that she has the respect and admiration of her employees and her frequent customers. She’s impossible not to love.
All things I considered impossible mere days ago. I want so much just to be happy, accept him here, and throw myself into the notion that this is permanent, but flashes of the past haunt me. From my experience, the minute I accept love, accept happiness, it gets snatched away from me in life-altering ways.
I’m okay with not being a gentleman because that’s not who I am and not who you love. Asking permission to kiss you? Never going to fucking happen.”
“Don’t disrespect women, period. They’re twice as evolved as most men will ever be. Don’t take your shit out on them, either. It’s a sign of weakness, and they aren’t punching bags. They’re a sanctuary, and you need to figure that out quick.”
“So, are you glad he’s back?” “I want to be, but we’re beyond complicated.” “Scared of getting hurt again?”
“You finally get it together enough to get over them—live without them—and bam, they show up on your doorstep expecting you to feel the same way.
‘Don’t ever count on a man to realize his wrongs on your emotional timeline ’cause men always take way longer to come around and deal with their feelings. They’re emotionally stunted.’”
