Sunday, June 26

Please bare with me while I get this out so I can feel better.

It's not easy when you get an update from your first love's mom as to how his and his fiance's trip in europe is going. I wonder if they got married yet. It's not easy when you have someone incredible waiting in the wing, but you can't find it in yourself to actually believe that he's there and wants to be; to know that he might not want to leave. It's not easy to get hammered into my head when I'm reading how much fun he's having with her, staying in homes in the countryside of Italy where they make their own olive oil and have horses you can ride with the glow of a sunset lighting your way. It's not even that I want to be with him, that I wish it were me - in fact, that's not it at all. It's the fact he has what I want so badly that I'm being caused actual physical pain. I can picture his happiness, and somewhere deep inside, I am truly happy for him. But right now it's selfishly masked, and that's hurting me more than the pain of wanting to be with the one I can stop thinking about. I despise selfishness when it's not needed. I've spent a good deal of time focusing on not being selfish, making a conscious effort to never be that. But sometimes it silently creeps in. I hate that I can't bury myself in my happiness, in my hope for the future that is so close I can taste it's honey-dew sweetness; the happiness that that I have burned into my memory of his eyes telling me everything I've been wanting to hear, with no words needed. I don't hear from him in 3 days, and I'm already thinking he's realized I'm not worth his time. This insecurity always finds it's way back into my body, haunting me. I like to think the insecurity will someday go away. As far as he's concerned, I'm confident and non-pressuring. But inside I'm so scared, I'm making myself sick. This one, I fear the most of leaving, because I want him forever. I want his eyes to look at every morning, his smile to return mine when I wake up next to him. I want him to go with me to Europe where countrymen make their own olive oil, where we can ride horseback in the countryside. I want to write the emails that get forwarded.

I know it's not easy now, but thanksfully, somewhere there's a part of me that holds out hope that it will be all worth it in the end. I will hopefully read this soon, and laugh at my wasted insecurities. That's my plan, anyway. Wilco said it best when they said, "what would I be, without wishful thinking?"

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