It’s been six months. A long time. Almost seven. In November, it’ll be a year.
I’ve been good so far. I’ve only cried in front of one person, and that was after I fucked up real bad and I couldn’t help it. Otherwise, I’ve been the confident, stoic, fun-loving single guy I’m supposed to be. Nobody’s seen the person hiding inside, afraid to death of dating, of getting close to anybody ever again, of ever having my heart broken one more time. They say a heart is really made of glass, and every time it breaks, there’s less pieces to put it back together.
I’ve maintained the illusion. I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong. I’m a little sad, but otherwise, I’m okay.
But the real me is screaming. Help me. Please. I need someone. Someone to talk to. Someone who won’t judge my tears. Someone who will just listen. And hold me tight. And tell me it’s okay. It’s okay to feel the way I do. It’s okay to cry like a child, to scream, to need.
“It’s okay,” is what I need to hear, my eyes all red and ragged. “It’s okay.”
And out of the blue, today, it arrived in the mail. A little brown paper package from my sister, all the way up in Seattle. I open it up, and there’s a CD with a little note. And the note says exactly what I need to hear.
“It’s okay,” she says.
“Go ahead,” she takes me into her arms.
“It’s okay.” And she holds me, all the way from Seattle.
I’m crying like a baby, Julie. My eyes red and ragged. My face all wet and flushed. For the first time in six months. The first song did it. Kicked me all over the room. It feels so good, like you’re right here, and we’re watching movies like we used to, and we’re talking about nothing at all, just being together because it’s good to be with someone, and we’ve ditched all that high school angst and drama, and we’re just holding on, like people who love each other are supposed to do.
And right now, I miss you and I love you more than I ever have in my whole life. And I want the whole world to know it.
I love you I love you I love you.
(And “Fuck you.”) 🙂