Maybe we can get together tonight or sometime this weekend?
That’s not a text you send to a woman you claim to be in love with; that’s more appropriate for a hookup. And, ending it with a question mark…so typically him. It means it won’t happen. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t know his grammatical personality so well.
Even though I suspected he wouldn’t show up that Friday night, when he sent me that text, I wore my blue satin slip dress, his favorite dress of mine. My willpower got drowsy in the end, anyway, and I ended up passing out on the couch, without him by my side, and I came to realize that it was probably for the best. If ever there was a sign that we should go our separate ways, this was it. My brain knows it, but my heart keeps pushing for one more try.
Five days, and he hasn’t said a word about it. No apology, nothing. Nada.
But I refuse to succumb to my despair tonight. I want to forget about my problems and about him tonight. I’m tired of being dragged down by life, and by him. I’m tired of my dreams not coming true, of work not finding me—and I not finding work. I’m done with rejections and this pain in my heart, because of him. I decided that I’m going to surround myself with friends again. Tonight I’m getting out of my way and away from thoughts of him.
This is an excerpt from my book DANTE CASANOVA — a short story that is still in the works. Will be published very soon!
