I often wonder if I devote too much time living in the past. How many exes have I now tried to rekindle the flame with, only for it to flicker out or burn me? Here I am, sitting here staring at the fire in one of my favorite sanctuaries, wondering what a certain ex is doing tonight, if I’m on his mind at all, even a little bit.
Still, I don’t know if it’s even fair to call him an ex. We were fourteen. The relationship lasted two weeks, though there were months of buildup. Little things have come back to me, things I had forgotten. The lines from Romeo and Juliet, which were meant to be delivered comedically but were said in the sweetest tone, as if he meant every word he said. what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun…
The time he made my friend and me my favorite dinner when we were twenty-something, driving over thirty minutes out of his way to do so and picking up every single ingredient needed to make the meal. Drunk and high on life and other things, a fateful, forbidden kiss in the middle of the night in a school playground. I severed all ties, but it wouldn’t be the last time our eyes would meet.
So many missed opportunities. Yet another undeveloped romance that had the potential to be something great. Two broken people, afraid to take a chance. Except, I’m not afraid. How is it possible I found someone even more afraid of life and its consequences than me?
I would love to talk to him right now, see him, pick up that kiss where we left off a month ago before he was called in to work. I thought I would be the one to run, not him. He’s the one that pulled me to him in the first place. And I’ve been going crazy ever since. Why start something you’re not willing to finish, I want to ask.
It’s been a week since the last text. I wonder how much longer he’ll keep me waiting before I hear back. Nothing I’ve said seems to have broken through the barricade. How did we become these people? How can we ever get back to who we were?