Schedules

I'm back where I started. Back in the food court by myself with a sub and a soda. Back in a place where no one knows me, and no one cares. I found myself looking around me at all the other women, trying to figure out which ones are single. And of course in my mind, they all have wonderful lovers that shower them with attention. And I know it's silly. But I can't help it. I wonder if I look like that to other women. Like someone who has someone. I can't imagine that I would.

So I'm off by myself again because he's busy and has things to do. He made sure to tell me ahead of time. I understand. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. And I don't even have any business having feelings about it. I keep telling myself just one more day, one more day, one more day. But it's not really one more day because I think my days ran out a long time ago. Or maybe they are just stringing together into a blurry mess.

I'm going through my schedule, through my days for the next week, the next month, the next semester, the next year. And I see an endless string of reminders stretching out in front of me that I used to be happy and someone used to love me. Or at least I thought so. And I see how hopeless I am because my schedule goes down in the context of him. And I try to look at it another way and I can't seem to manage it. But I am trying. It's not easy. It's not comfortable. And I don't know how to fix it.

I should have figured it out a long time ago. But I was stupid and in love and believed everything. I look back and see how and where I should have bowed out. But it's too late, and there's nothing I can do about it now. It's so ridiculous to still be hurting after almost a year. And he thought it would go away, and I actually thought it would too. But it hasn't even lessened, much less gone away. He told me his mother lost it on the sidewalk and I understood. I feel like that every day. I just hide it better. But it doesn't go away.