Driving down the street, getting on the freeway I couldn’t help but think about how fucked up memories were. When you’re making them they seem like the most special things in the world, the sex, the stolen kisses, the pictures that you share with the world and the ones you keep hidden away. And then when it ends, those same memories haunt you.
“Hey baby, it’s me, I haven’t talked to you in a couple of days. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. I saw on Facebook that you got that promotion, I was wondering if you wanted me to take you out to celebrate? I won’t leave a long message, just call me back when you can, I miss you.”
Hanging up the phone I swear I felt like I was seventeen and not thirty one, why was I on the phone leaving voicemails for a grown boy? Sitting on the couch, my laptop on his FB page, I felt like I was stalking his movements. Why was it so easy for him to go out and date and meet new people and just live life period. I can’t eat, I’m always tired but I can’t sleep, it’s just not fair.
I’ve never been one of those women that…
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