“Or compose an e-mail and not send it?”
He nods. “That might work, too. ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.’”
“‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Except Bible verses don’t make it hurt any less, Reverend. Believe me, I’ve tried seeking comfort in the word of God and I’m coming up empty.”
He sighs. “Would you like to come to my office to talk for a while, son? Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in there, in private. I can offer you coffee, or tea, or water.”
I glance at the time and almost say no, but I have about forty minutes left. “Okay, thanks.”
* * * *
…I don’t know why I bother writing these emails. I find myself sending some of them and sending others to the draft folder.
Yeah, this one I’m sending. I want to believe you’ll read it.
Six months after you’ve ghosted me, and I swear I’m going to get you out of my system by finding some other guy to pound into a mattress.
Then the thought of being with someone besides you makes me want to puke. Because I made you a promise, that there’d be no one but you.
I did meet a guy to spank last week, and that’s all I did was spank him. He wanted to blow me and I turned him down.
How stupid am I, right? That I didn’t take him up on his offer and…
* * * *
…Christmas doesn’t feel the same without you. Without going to Rockefeller Center and looking at the tree, watching the skaters, making plans. All our old traditions.
Seven years together, Ward, and here I sit in my old bedroom at my parents’ house on Christmas Eve, crying my fucking eyes out before we all head over to the midnight church service…
* * * *
…A year ago, I panicked as I waited for you to show up for graduation. I wonder what you told your parents that day. I wonder if you lied to them, or lied to me about meeting up with them. Did they even come to the city?
It shouldn’t matter anymore, I guess, but I sit here in bed in an apartment that should be ours, and I hope you find whatever you were seeking that I couldn’t give you. I vacillate between grief and rage, missing you and wishing you were standing in front of me so I could punch you for putting me through this.
Mostly, I hate myself, because I can’t move on. I finally did meet a guy I let give me a blow job, but I won’t see him again.
He looked too much like you, and I realized too late that’s the only reason I said yes to him in the first place. But he was nothing like you, and I couldn’t stop making the comparisons…
* * * *
…Why the hell did I Google you?
Why did I put myself through that?
I think I was honestly considering reaching out to tell you I’ve been approached to run for the US Senate, then I found the engagement announcement.
You’re thirty, and she’s twenty.
So much for that promise, huh? That you’d always be mine?
I guess I can’t fault you, since I didn’t keep mine. Although I’ve never had what could be called a “relationship.” I’ve slept with a couple of guys. Her family’s big in Georgia politics, I gather, from what I read about her father? Bet your father loves the Hell out of that. And congratulations on winning a seat in the Georgia Senate. Bet she creams herself over being a politician’s wife. Or maybe your father creams himself. Tell me, does Daddy love you now?
Sorry. That’s my pain talking, I know, but…
* * * *
…I met a great guy last night and had dinner with him. We went out for sushi, of all things. Maybe it was a sign.
