You, Again

by Kate Goldbeck

There’s this mindfulness exercise she’s been listening to on an app. You close your eyes and imagine yourself lying on your back, looking up at the sky, watching clouds gently float overhead. You name each cloud with an emotion you’re feeling and just let it float past, and that’s apparently supposed to help you sit with the discomfort instead of avoiding it.

“The truth is…happiness is really complicated. It’s fickle.”

“No one should marry the person who makes them happy. Marry the person you want by your side at your lowest p-point. Marry the person you…you never get sick of. Who you always want more from. Who makes you proud to be theirs.”

“If you do happen to find your person, it’s an act of courage to tell them that. To say, ‘please love me back.’ To let someone else hold your heart in their hands, knowing it could—actually, it probably will—end badly. Knowing that they’re going to fuck up. Knowing you’ll both hurt each other. But if that’s your person, it’s worth the risk. Because your person will see the best version of you. They’ll have a whole list of reasons why they think you’re irreplaceable. And they’ll tell you.”

It’s a familiar feeling—like his whole life has been a party where everyone else is enjoying themselves while he sulks in the corner.

Unknown Number: I love you

Josh: You have the wrong number. Unknown Number: Is this not the Biggest Boy?

I will buy you an entire set of monogrammed cereal bowls, he promises silently.

Maybe being in love is knowing that you’d live it all over again—every part, suffering included—to get right back to the place where you’re standing.

She opens her right hand and holds out a large black silicone cock ring. “I want to put a ring on it.” Josh stares at it for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh and taking a step back. “Very funny.” But she doesn’t seem to find it funny, either, because she’s not laughing. “I want to be your wife.”

There’s a battle waging somewhere in the depths of his brain. Voices and sentence fragments that insist that she’s joking or she could change her mind or who the fuck proposes marriage while the other person is holding an “Octopussy”?

Maybe there’s no such thing as soulmates. Maybe there are only people who trust each other enough to begin something without being assured of the end.