Cry in bed holding on for dear life to a bottle of Reisling that’s empty. It’s a feeling that you aren’t unfamiliar with. You announce to no one/God/ your cat that this is the last tear that will fall in honor of love lost.
Slip into hibernation. Reject your friends’ attempts to hangout. Two of them will show up at your figurative and literal doorstep. You will go out and dance. You will hate yourself for enjoying it.
When your friends part ways after mimosas and the last story from the night before, in spite of what you vowed, you will hate it. Being alone with yourself; forcing you to learn about you will feel like peeling all the skins you created until you reach bone. You will call yourself a martyr for love. You will say you deserve the suffering.
You realize your thighs are amazing. And that you deserve a mani-pedi. You learn that you like to be outside and food is a form of worship. You learn the sound of your feet as you run in the grass. The beach. The pavement. You cut your hair. You pierce your nose. A peacock’s tail drapes your arm as a reminder: Above all, be proud of yourself. Hold yourself higher than any pedestal they fashioned for you out of cardboard and glue sticks.
You begin to listen when God speaks. You let His words flow throughout your being. You start to encompass the embodiment of love.
Sex is different. Dating is different. There isn’t any room to entertain. There is no patience for mediocrity. Blocked are the connections trying to force themselves on you.
You meet someone you can talk to. Everything starts to line up. You don’t notice.
You have one more encounter with the catalyst for this change. You will know it’s the last time. You will understand them more in that moment than you ever did. You will understand the importance of change being a deliberate act of love. You will be sad but joyous. You will walk away. There will be scars. You will close your eyes and walk gently to go lay nose to nose with a lover and finally allow them to breathe you in.