June 1, 2018
I started writing at the insistence of my therapist because, turns out, I couldn’t verbally express myself. Weird right? I’m this super wordy, always chatty person who seemed to be emotionally stunted. I couldn’t yell about it, I refused to cry about it, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to confront anyone about it. So I journaled. I said all the horribly nasty, unbearably sad, and basically just pathetic monologues in my personal journal.
June 8th, 2018
I remember I was in a squat rack and it was Tuesday. June 6th 2017 to be exact and I know this bit because I was scheduled to see Mojave Nomads play the Ogden Twilight concert series on the 8th. My phone buzzed the notification of an incoming text message. I pulled it from the workout band attached to my bicep and read a text from #3.
The Girl probably told you I’m getting married. It’s on Thursday. So can we switch days so she can go to the wedding and stay overnight to go camping?
You. Hello you. I’ve met you before. A younger, still hopeful, and somewhat arrogant version of me – she met you in a club 10 years ago. You were unlike anyone she’d ever known and yet somehow, she knew you’d be her undoing. One date in and that ME knew that she was done for. She staggered forward anyway. It’s not like she stood a chance, but she didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t a world or a lifetime that she wouldn’t fall absolutely and recklessly in love with you. And that’s just what she did. That girl would go on to turn herself inside out to love you. And man, did she love you. If I’m being honest, I do too. We never stopped. Even when your words and your actions and the world would force her to leave the dimension in which we were still one.
