Starting to worry that I’m a serial dater— you know, one of those girls that can’t live by herself for 6 damn months? I mean, it’s not like I was like, “Ah!! I have to find someone!” I was pretty sad once we (W and I) ended things in July, but I wasn’t in a rush for anything serious. I kind of just wanted
a companion sex. Almost happened with a lovely fellow by the name of Shockey, but he started avoiding me once I told him that I was still hung up over my ex and would be for an extremely long time.
Spoke with W this weekend and he told me that I musn’t have loved him as much as I thought I did before since I dated immediately after we broke up.
Nigga, I wanted some booty. Some fresh, tech school booty. Everyone else got to do it and (although I was in for over 2 years,) I had been caged up in that unhealthy (because it was NOT going to go anywhere with his parents) relationship of ours, not having a nightlife. And YOU didn’t love me as much as you thought— you chose your effin’ parents over me. They said Black wasn’t good enough and you basically agreed by putting me on the backburner. Think I’ll wait another 4 years for you to make up your mind? Not my style, Honey. Things got miserable at the end and we just weren’t willing to admit it. Can’t tell you how many times I found myself tightly clinging onto the passenger handle from the inside of the car when we were sprinting down the interstate. I just wanted to throw myself out. Living was tiring. I was tired waking up.
Wish me motherfucking happiness and get over yourself.
Ok. Ok. On to this past week.
I think last Thursday, I got to see my old best frand (SH) after two years. He told me about his glorious life and how he’s getting married to this girl who used to mutter racist comments my way. Good for him.
But, he embraced me as soon as I opened my car door and gave me the sweetest kisses, whispering, “I’ve missed you so much”es inbetween breaths.
We were a little disappointed by our hotel, but I tried not to mention it— I didn’t pay this time and it was a 3-nighter due to the holiday weekend. We rolled and played on a kingsize and fantasized about our future together.
He is a good guy. Everything he does is for my benefit. I think that’s enough to make a woman fall in love.
Plus he’s amazing in bed. I call him Kevin The Sex G-d every time I text a girlfriend.
And he trusts me. Because he says, “You can’t form a relationship without trust.” Thank you. Because it’s usually the cheaters who are paranoid.
This weekend, Saturday night at 2:34am in Austin, Texas, he nudged me awake, kissed my ear, and said, “I love you.” I’m the first girl he’s ever said it to. I’m honored.
Even if he didn’t love me, I’d be honored just to lay in the same bed as this man. He is incredibly kind and sincere and courteous and strong and fit and…
I’m a little overwhelmed. I was afraid to say it back. I was afraid to say it back because I was worried that I might still love my ex. And it’s not right to confess that you love someone when part of your heart belongs to someone else.
While he was sighing gently beside me, deep asleep, I whispered, “I love you, too, Kevin,” and smiled.
He opened his eyes, kissed me, and another day began.
Kind of sad that I don’t love W anymore. I felt it once I told Kev that I loved him. 2.5 years together and I can feel our times together leaking out of my head from my ears and eyes. I used to cry to him that my memory had been compromised since the accident and I was afraid that I would forget our time together, so he made it a point to make everything as memorable as possible.
W is a sweet man. I love him, not romantically but, like you would love a favorite set of pearls. You can hate seeing them go all you want, but once you pass them on, your bond has changed. If you get those pearls back from a 15 year old granddaughter somehow, it will be too late— HER memories will rub onto them and they’ll be unfamiliar to you. I’ve already let go of my W.
This damn man.