For My Almost Lover Returning to His Ex

I cannot say I was surprised. After all, every potential love affair up to this point had left. They had turned the page as if I was a bookmark placed to hold space until the next salacious chapter. What did you expect, Ximena? I asked. It was true. I had let myself get entangled by the familiar warmth of possibility. There had been inebriating, dizzying hope and I drank it all up.

Now I found myself in the same position once more as I listened intently to him on the other end of the phone. It was 12:17 AM.

“I can’t get over her. I’m sad we ended things, and I’m mad she won’t talk to me. I can’t think. I can’t sleep!” he confessed. This was new to me. I felt he had lied to himself and I was a casualty. I finally sat up. What did this all mean? It took me forever to fall asleep. I had talked to him right before and the excitement of new love made it difficult to turn my mind off. I feverishly wrote long declarations of love in my journal. I had written so much, the side of my right hand was smeared with pink ink.

He continued, “ I want to get back with her. I think we can work things out, you know?” Ummm, no. I don’t know, but I also didn’t know my heart could physically hurt the way it was hurting at this moment. I tried paying attention, but the whole situation was confusing. We had been texting and talking to each other nonstop for weeks. We had made plans to meet up. There were countless FaceTime conversations. What did all of that mean to him? I had a decision to make. I could ask him now for the definite answer, what about me? What I wanted mattered too.

I never wanted to seem too eager. I was trying to “play the cool girl” but that was not me. How could this be my life? “I’ve been taking these girls out, and none of ‘em give a shit about me, I feel like.” I care about you, I thought. “I love her so much. So fucking much. I shouldn’t of let her go.” I heard what I needed to hear.

I helped him talk through his feelings, and we came up with a plan to help open the lines of communication with his ex. I told him the games had to end. New love is easy but real love, takes effort. Real love is a conscious decision he would have to make each and every day.

I remembered the love before this one. We had broken up and no less than six months later he was engaged. I remembered the guy who has strung me along because I was the “perfect girl to bring to mom” but he wasn’t ready to bring anyone into this life yet. It was a train wreck of a flashback but I remembered all of the loves that never happened. My first grade crush, my fifth grade crush, my almost first boyfriend. It completely broke me. Like Ann Sexton’s poem, For My Lover Returning to His Wife, I realized I was merely watercolor. I washed off.

“Thank you, Ximena. You’ve been such a good friend to me. Thanks for always listening.” I waited a bit before I replied how happy I was for him. I thought I genuinely meant it. People told me love was selfless and expected nothing in return. I finally understood what that meant. So why did it feel like I got the shitty end of the stick?

I got up the next morning still in a fog. I tried to convince myself I was still solid, still whole despite last night’s events. If he’s happy, I should be happy. I jumped in the shower and watched as the water drops just quickly rolled off my body. Pink watercolor drops falling. Yup, I thought. I wash off.