“you’ve lost weight,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into him.
little did he know that ever since he emailed me two-weeks prior saying he never wanted to leave London i had a horrible feeling that didn’t allow me to get out of bed or keep down a meal. there was someone else, another girl, in England. i could feel it in my bones.
i smiled and looked up at him from under my lashes. we kissed deeply.
that night as we dangled our feet in my boss’ pool he told me he loved me. it was the beginning of the end.
three months later he dumped me. i was 22, heartbroken, and had already bought his christmas gift.
“see you soon,” he called out to me. a parting phrase second nature to him, with no real thought.
“i highly doubt that,” i snapped back, now almost a block away.
i heard the door shut and with that a chapter of my life closed on a chilly January evening. no, it couldn’t. i turned on my heel, headed back to his door and knocked. he answered, listening to a message on his cell. i recognized the voice of his best friend streaming through the ear piece. he stared at me while i unzipped my jacket and bent over to take off my boots.
“want to go upstairs?”
his cell phone snapped shut as we raced to the bedroom.
the street lights flooded through the open drapes creating dancing shadows on the wall as our bodies moved and we whispered to each other in the darkness.
as i lay in the dark wood sleigh bed i loved so much, with his blue with white floral print sheets pulled up over my chest, he reached over and swept my hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear. it felt like home, the home i had imagined for us months before.
memories came flooding back. i remembered the polkadot dress i wore when he asked me to be his girlfriend, and the smell of the fire and the sound of our beer bottles clinking as we agreed to our silly relationship. i remembered the feeling of his hand slipping around my waist as we walked to Hooters for wings after the Blue Jays game. i remembered the way his eyes would glisten and his forehead would crinkle when he talked to me, and only me. i remembered how nervous he always made me feel; the butterflies never stopped. i remembered how much we laughed, and how he made me smile bigger than i ever had. i remembered all the tears he caused me to shed. and i hated that i was drowning in these memories in his bed.
i’ve toyed with writing a memoir for years, and while the majority of it will be funny, the prologue breaks my heart all over again to write. this is a snippet. hope you enjoyed.