...sometimes, it's hard to know where I stand / It's hard to know where I am...
Spring break has commenced (Thank you God). I am possibly going to Miami or New York. I am not sure yet but for the time being, I am in my apartment, incredibly bored.
My room was a mess so I made a big production and process out of cleaning it up (with which I am not through as I decided to do laundry too and it's been a minute).
I put up iTunes and put it on Shuffle, as usual. I think that is the best option ever for playing one's music.
An old song that I was crazy about some years ago when her album, Full Moon, came out, started to fill the room. At about minute 2:04 of "Love Wouldn't Count Me Out", something happened. I don't know what because I didn't see it but I know it happened.
My first Mr. Jones, when I was 18, fresh meat on campus, living the high life in the newest dorm, introduced me to the role of Mrs. Jones. And I played the part like I wrote it my damn self.
I was all up under him, adored him, listened to him, trusted him, cooked for him, cleaned up for him, prayed for him, and almost loved him. Almost.
He had a situation early in my freshman year that would have separated us for a long time (like Paid In Full trouble). I cried and I cried and I prayed for him and for us and for his mom and for him. I laid up in my roommate's bed everyday for a week because I couldn't sleep alone. I went to church homecoming crying the whole time like I wasn't saved and I had strayed and some more stuff, even though I was good friends with God.
A week or two went by. I called him randomly walking back to my dorm from somewhere just to hear his voicemail. Do you know this man answered the phone?I was so happy and so overcome with relief that I didn't think it strange or mean that he had been home for 2 days and didn't think to call me. I just felt better, like I had relocated my space in the world.
I should have known it was all about to be a mess after that but I couldn't. I was trying to love him.
For a very little while, it was all good. And then literally, one day (we spoke everyday), he stopped calling, didn't answer or return my calls and I was devastated. At first I thought something had happened again.
Then he answered the phone once after we hadn't spoken in 2 weeks. All he said was he was busy and he would call me back later and I believed him. He didn't call me back and then I just knew he had left.
I spent 3 years trying to figure out what happened, what I did wrong, what was wrong with me, why he didn't want me, etc., blah, blah, x, y, and z.
Almost four years later, I am not totally sure why he up and left but it is not as important as the other things I have realized.
He was 10 years older than me (yes I know, but I have always been attracted to older men, which is why I waited for college before actually dating), but he acted very immature. I noticed it, but wrote it off as playful, like an idiot. He was not too good at communicating but I wrote it off as a fear of confrontation (because I am very confrontational). Maybe I was in love.
But now, my biggest fear is the end. I can't get into a relationship with anyone because I have this nasty fear of how it will end, what will happen, etc. So I just don't enter so as not to have to deal with an exit. If the dude Mommy betrothed me to doesn't work, I will be a chronic bachelorette.
I can't remember why I was so into him anymore and have turned around and run across town when I meet a gentleman who displays anything he did when I met him. But I am still a little mad, I discovered today. There are some words I'd like to share with him and some things I would like to tell him about himself. I don't really have anymore questions. He probably wouldn't know the answers anyway.
Keane said that "love is just a lyric in a children's rhyme". What if that's true?
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