Maybe I Want to be Sad

When you go through a breakup your friends want you to feel better. 

Right away. 

Like.

Yesterday. 

They don't want you wasting another moment on that loser who doesn't deserve you, who didn't appreciate you, who really should have been more interested in your hoo hoo than yayo.

They mean well. 

They just want you back to your bubbly, confident, all sass and no frass vim & vigor self.

(Vim & Vigor? Does anybody actually say that? Do I even know what the fuck that means??)

It's a good thing. 

It's a good thing when you're fortunate enough to have people in your life who want you to be happy. 

But no one ever seems to understand that you might not be ready to give up your sadness. 

Maybe I want to be sad. 

I'd already done what I was "supposed" to. 

I'd already embraced the supposed cure all for a lost love--the only way to get over one guy was to get under a new guy. 

That's what Mother always used to say. 

(I'm kidding. If my mother actually ever said that I would die laughing. Love you, Mama).

I threw all my cares out the happy hour window and dove into the spontaneity of a stranger. 

But surprise, surprise he wasn't amazing. 

And instead of feeling satisfied it only made me crave my lost love even more. 

Why would being with someone else right away help me get over the person I still had feelings for?

I compared everything. 

The way his kisses were different. 

The way his eyes didn't look at me the way his had. 

I didn't want someone else. 

I still wanted him. 

I still wanted to want him. 

I had a revelation. 

The only reason I was doing any of it was because I thought it was what I was supposed to be doing.

To LETGO.

To MOVEON.

Everyone kept saying it like some chant from the bleachers watching the game of my life. 

️Portlandia in unison.

Let Go. Let go. let go.

But God dammit.

Could everyone just shut the fuck up and let me think for a moment. 

I'm not ready to let go. 

I haven't gone through it all yet. 

The sadness is holding my hand while he won't. 

Do you have any idea how long it's been since I even liked a guy enough to be sad about him?

So fucking long!

It feels good to miss someone. 

It feels good to be sad about a boy. 

I guess that makes me a raging masochist. 

But to be able to remember.

To remember the nights he stared into my eyes like I was the raddest girl in Portlandia.

To mourn that loss. 

To actually have a fucking loss to mourn. 

Of course I still wanted him. 

I wanted just to SEE him. 

But if I couldn't hug him I could at least hold onto my pain.

I could marvel at that. 

See part of what makes love so brilliant isn't just the joy that embodies it but the pain.

Great love is like great sex. 

There are moments where it's almost too much.

Where it frightens you.

Where it pushes you past your breaking point and you don't think you can take anymore. 

But you do. 

And it's lovely. 

To say the least. 

I'd made several more dates because the Motel Dandy had made his way back from whence he came.

(Which is a shame because we really almost had something there. Just nothing that wasn't-- too hard --to release).

I couldn't help myself. 

#sorrynotsorry

So I'd have more dates. 

Because more dates meant I was putting myself back out there.

It meant I might be one Jameson away from my next orgasm. 

But. 

I.

  Didn't.

            Want.

                     To.

The thought of enduring one more mediocre date or one more disappointing roll in the 12 count scratchy sheets made me want to run screaming into the sunlight. 

(Because screaming into the night feels a little melodramatic).

I didn't want to move on. 

I didn't want to stop checking my phone hopefully in the morning. 

I wanted to still believe. 

And I wanted to be alone. 

I wanted to be free to miss him. 

Every day. 

Because I did. 

And I wanted to hope. 

However falsely. 

I preferred misguided hope to the cynical acceptance I'd been shrouded in.

I wanted a part of me to still be that hopeless romantic who dominated my twenties. 

Back when love was forever & ever kiss hug kiss hug heart heart.

So. 

This sucks. 

I miss him. 

He's having a massive surgery with a  long recovery.

And he wants to heal in solitude. 

And there's nothing I can do. 

And even if my brain can accept "he just wasn't the one, Reese."

That still doesn't change the fact that as of May 2015  H E  W A S.

I don't want someone new until I'm finished harmonizing with my sadness. 

And I don't want to pretend I'm fine so people can stop worrying about me. 

I miss my lover. 

And I need to feel sad. 

Because then it's still real. 

Then it's not entirely over. 

And I would love for love to be real again.

Wouldn't that be something?

Just like a fairytale.