Last night I had one of those “how long will it take them to notice I’m gone” moments.
Originally I had just gone to the bar to get a drink, but the barstaff didn’t see me either.
So, a little too drunk for a Thursday, I pulled an Irish goodbye. I walked up the street and got the best steamie in the world and walked home holding back tears and wondering why in the hell at nearly 37 years old I can still feel so small.
I wondered if some of my relationships seemed easy because there aren’t really deep feelings on the other person’s part.
I wondered if I’m worth feeling for.
I was in love with them and they didn’t really love me back. So now I’m not in love with them anymore.
I’m also far away from many people I love(d). That distance creates another kind of wall, and I’m pretty sure that it’s better this way.
Some people said they loved me and so I told them I loved them too. Then I would visit and be close and some of them didn’t really step up to be with me when I showed up. I mean be with me in a real way.
Not a sexy way, but a real way.
It made me feel confused and sad.
I’m really good at removing myself, but this isn’t something I’m proud of.
I’m really not good at being seen and heard—also not something I’m proud of.
Even hanging out with a best friend, I can cease to exist at the blink of an eye—or in this case, the shake of an ass.
I should have just kept sitting in this park.