Month: November 2019

I miss you more often than I don’t.

When I feel devastatingly lonely in the middle of the night, I think about the nights I woke up wrapped in your arms. I think about waking up to the sound of you snoring, and kissing your face until you stopped. I think about the way you’d reach over in the middle of the night, and pull my arm over you. You’d pull my hand up just a bit further to your mouth, and half-asleep kiss my fingers. My fingers in your beard has always been my favorite feeling.

I checked my pockets before I walked through the front door, and I noticed then that I had left my phone in my car’s cup holder. I didn’t go back for it though. The girls I was meeting already snagged a table.

Any time I’m at this bar, you’re the itch in the middle of my back. You’re the mosquito constantly in my face. You’re the chill of that front door swinging open, and my heart racing when a bearded man walks in. You’re the eye-rolling disappointment when it’s someone other than you. You’re always on my mind, everywhere I go, but especially here, where we were born.

I stopped with Mike and grabbed a whiskey, and snuggled into a hug with old man Donnie. This bar is a different type of zoo on the weekends, and it’s written all over the regulars’ faces. Saturdays especially, this place is infiltrated by people from the city, stomping around these worn down hardwood floors in their brand new boots. They don’t know the bartenders by name, or care which pizza joints will deliver out this far. They’re just here for a honky tonk good time.

“Whassup bitches??” I hollered at Jess and Jill as I rounded the corner and slid my whiskey onto the table. I was greeted with squeals and hugs and laughter before our glasses clinked together.

The bar began to fill rapidly, with the usual Saturday suspects. Our drinks were ready for refills, and we were reading out loud a few of the handwritten love, hate, and drunk messages off the wall nearest our table. Our table roaring with shouts, heads back, howling with laughter.

I glanced at the corner of the bar just in time to catch his eyes meeting mine. I could feel a smirk form on my face, remembering that it was just last night that I said I missed him. It’s been over a month since I saw him last; at the bar by his apartment, and in his bed the next morning. He rounded the corner and came to me with arms open.

“What’s up, fucker?” I slid my arms under his. He squeezed me, and kissed the top of my head, his chest heaving with laughter.

And it was happening. My exboyfriend’s sister was about to meet the man that inspired me to finally leave my ex. The man that eagerly handed over the keys to his truck after I told him I was looking at a country home to rent near his ranch. The man who talked me up, and talked me through, my wild mess of emotions while I separated myself from the life I’d known for 3 years prior. The man I fell so deeply in love with after my ex, and the man that built me up and restored my faith in myself, and in love after my exboyfriend chose once again, his vices over his future and his relationship with me.

He released me a bit, but we kept an arm around each other. “Hey there,” he announced to the rest of the table.
“These are my girls!” I beamed, “and this is Tim, the love of my life.”

Tim left to get us new drinks, and immediately the girls leaned in, “So wait, this is The Neighbor??” And I burst with laughter. I have a habit of constantly saying so much more than I’m aware of.

The band played a few covers, and after a few text messages from their kids, the girls decided to head home.

“I should probably get home too,” Tim kissed my cheek. “Wanna get outta here?”
“Nah, I’m gonna stay a bit longer, but I’ll walk you to your truck.” I said as I hopped off the stool.

A few minutes later he was out front of the bar, wrapping his arms around me as we walked out back to the dirt parking lot. “I looked for your car when I got here,” he said. “I didn’t see it.”
We laughed as we came around the corner and found only a single truck between our cars.

“So you’re really not coming home with me,” he sighed. “I still think about fucking in my driveway on the hood of your car.”

I reached for the zipper on his pants. “I’m thinking about it right now.”

He laughed as he fished for his keys from his left pocket. “Get in the truck.”

I’ve been thinking of you so much lately, that I’m allowing you to cloud my vision of almost everything. The speed in which I’m willing to call any flag red, and jump ship the moment a gray cloud crosses the sky. You called me a gypsy, and you called me flighty, and then you became the reason for my flighty, gypsy habits.

The lies. The lies. The lies. The recently uncovered lies that you’ve told both in recent, and distant past. To swim in your environment has been both healing and sorrowful.

I am in relief that I am not the only one that now has to suffer in seeing you for who you have been. I am tragically disappointed in the untapped, and unused talent, that is rotting beneath your addiction.

I pity myself, since you have turned to be vastly different than the man I fell in love with. I pity you, since you have turned to be someone I’ve seen you tearfully state that you never wanted to be.

I am devastated, thinking back to the young, carefree lovers; moving into the the house we figuratively, and literally, built for each other. Our whole futures ahead of us…

Having no idea that within years, it would be cut short in the exact disgusting way we were so carefully trying to avoid in the beginning.