You can always hear from anyone about "the one that got away". At least gentlemen have this phenomenon take place in their minds. I mostly see when it's the ladies speaking about their ex's that there's never an amiable reminiscence, it's usually "he's such a scumbag... Can you imagine him doing that? Etc." Like somehow we've all wronged you. I'd like to say that throughout my dating history there have only been two occasions when I have been the "Dumper" and not "Dumpee". Looking back, I was incredibly foolish. Remember the girlfriend with the many boyfriends? I left someone for her. That latest delve back into the Latina Tunnel o' Love lasted two months, when the friend I had walked away from and I had had the most amazing summer of my life. We were kids, and I still feel like a kid in many ways, but looking back is trying to comprehend a 16-year-old's decisions when it comes to girls and sex; the crazy amalgam of hormones and emotional connections.
"Hello ma'am, would you be interested in some sexual positions and emotional investments?"
For a while, that's all I thought about. And then you look back on the countless smiles and hugs, the heartfelt kissing til your lips are sore and you're entirely enslaved by their every movement. As I sit and reminisce, I know that it's not always going to be same. I know that time has passed and things have changed, but it feels like the same possibilities lay around the next corner.
It's upsetting when your hopes always tend to backfire.
I have a tendency to make things more awkward for myself. I let people know exactly how I'm feeling, and twenty minutes later we all get to find out how those feelings that I'm having will not be coming to fruition.
Act normal, you shan't want to rock the boat!
I am a master of my emotions, but only after the first sign of disappointment. We met again, after the long years, and I, desperately wanting to begin anew, getting lost in those same eyes, I played the part of Casanova well. I listened, made jokes, kept physical contact, enjoyed myself and smiled the whole way through. I heard about how things weren't going well and how there was a way to act happy whilst trying to hold everything together. I was thinking about sandy feet and soft pillows and she bore through me with her stare. I bought it. I wasn't led on maliciously, just need to be more careful when there's been drinking involved, I guess.
And the following night, I was a true gentleman. I shook the hand of her best friend and he and I laughed and drank, cheersed our glasses and drained them. It was tearing at me, and I needed answers. I got 'em. Nothing had happened, but I felt as though I was being hushed into making everyone else see that nothing had happened. Does that make sense? No? Good.
I've spent 6 years living with my mistake.
What will be will be, and I just hope that our paths cross again.
But I'm more than just a little curious how you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead...
On another note: Abercrombie, the "kid" version of A&F has recently started selling crotchless panties for their teenage patrons. The world is fucked, and I'm beginning to feel the disconnect more and more every day. Disgusting.
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