Hope & a Handgun

I am hoping for your sake that you are happy. I am not sure I would be in your situation, but then again, I am not you. I know you didn’t get to choose, and you made a commitment, but please know that sometimes you get to consider what you need to be happy. Would you be there now if you had known then?

If you took making him happy, because it makes you happy out of the equation, is there anything that he does that makes you happy? And if you could choose to live without all of those qualities, would you choose the ones that he displays the most?

Is he everything that you wanted him to be? As you move to stand on your own, and he gets bigger and stronger and more hateful by the day, will your stance make him move? Will he wince in pain, or cause you hurt? Are you strong enough to let him go?

Can you tell me if you need me? Can I let you go if you don’t? I will be here as you blossom, but remain tethered to him. Does it feel like life, or does it feel like letdown? Are you in there, alive and well? Or are you pushing things aside, day by day, hoping they will go away?

Please, close your eyes, and think of the life you would have. You would be you, living your own stories instead of his. Running, your way. Loving, your way. Caring for others, aloud and in the open. Will you cry with me when it doesn’t work out?

Can you leave the pain and the hate? Does it look like that to you?

Or does it just look like marriage?

I thought I knew…

but really, how do you know?

While scouring an old email account looking for an old version of my resume, I couldn’t help but look through our old emails. I would hate to lose them, as every few years I relive them in their entirety. Bittersweet, with a hint of longing.

I knew then. I knew that I loved you and we would get married. I was sure of it. So sure that I became that person that when people asked, “How do you know?” I replied, “You just know.”

and then, one day, I knew I was wrong. When people asked, “How do you know?” I replied, “I just know.”

If When it happens again, will I know then too?

And, more importantly, will I be wrong?

And I would take that wrong all over again, because it felt so good.

pretending, still?

I had an hilarious interaction with my dry cleaner on Friday.

A little background, first. My dry cleaner is commonly referred to by the people at my work as the dry-cleaner nazi. The slight Seinfeld reference is an earned one, as he requires exact change, very prompt pickup and often scolds you for new stains. Why do I continue to provide my nosy dry cleaner with business? Well, because he does a great job, and grace isn’t my best quality, so I often send him clothes that appear as though they jumped out of a Tide commerial.

He recognizes me and has inquired about my job situation. He asks quizzically if I am in school and repeatedly I tell him, “No, I am done. I work.”

So I walk in Friday, he nods, and pulls a new ticket. Then he looks at me above the rims of his glasses and says, “Pretending, still?” as he inquires about my last name. Then he asks for my first initial. I nod, then respond, and he counters with “When are you going to change your name?” I laugh. He says “When are you going to get married?”

I laugh again, smile, and respond, “Not for a very long time.”

Undaunted, he persists. “Why a long time? What is your plan for marriage?”

“My plan? I don’t have one, I don’t even have a prospect. I am in no hurry.”

“hmph. How old are you?”

“22.”

“hmph, you should be married by 25. I think 25 is good age. Then you have two years.”

“ok, I’ll remember that. Thanks.” I smile, he relents, and I leave.

I can’t wait until I walk in three years and he says, “Pretending, still?”

Talk about dissapointment.