Tuesday Morning

That night they talked for two and a half hours about all things and no things and all the things between. Not caring about the time or miles or lack of sleep that would most certainly impact a HUGE day for her tomorrow. His voice was exactly the same as she remembered it 20 years ago, albeit older, more grown up. The inflection, the tone, the sighs, the “ums.” She closed her eyes and listened to the nasaly crack in his voice that happened every few minutes, increasing in frequency as the night grew deeper; and even though he may have been talking about things that hurt him from his past, all she could think of was “my heart is melting.”

She snuggled down even deeper when he said this was what he’d been looking for: to be able to connect with someone, talk to them, really listen to each other. And as he finished her sentence, the one that she so emphatically declared to her best friend time and time again “I’m tired of being their Saturday nights”… “I want her to be my Tuesday morning.” She stopped herself from screaming, as she sucked in a gulp of air, and pounded her fist in the pillow; asked him to tell her he didn’t just say what she heard; and he just laughed. That sweet laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and showed the tops of his teeth. And so did she.

“20 years has been too long, it was so nice talking to you again…” And so it began.


Don’t go…

I probably should say this but… Going through all our “play dates” because I’m a sentimental glutton for punishment. What used to bring smiles now incites a sharp pang in my heart. Probably because I’m already feeling the loss, whether real or imagined. He just needs time to think. He hasn’t gone completely AWOL. But the frequency has waned and I’m afraid of losing him, so it makes me want to reach out more. The logical side of me continues to coach me into giving him time and space. The emotional side is crying out, screaming, shaking! Not this again.


I Want

I know what I want. I want to work with people; not in sales. I want to help people, not doctors. I want to feel like I’ve made a difference in people’s lives at the end of the day. I want to feel like my life is more meaningful than the number of calls I make in a day. I want love, unconditional. I want to be someone’s first priority. I want to matter. I want someone to dream of me; to look at their phone in anticipation, and then sigh in disappointment because I haven’t called/texted. I want it all. And I will get it. If not with [him], or [him], then with no one… until it’s time.

Taming the Beast

That’s what Jamie didn’t understand: it was never just sex. Even the fastest, dirtiest, most impersonal screw was about more than sex. It was about connection. It was about looking at another human being and seeing your own loneliness and neediness reflected back. It was recognising that together you had the power to temporarily banish that sense of isolation. It was about experiencing what it was to be human at the basest, most instinctive level. How could that be described as just anything?

Emily Maguire