Note to self: updating your blog well past last call and even the slightest bit intoxicated is always a bad idea if only for the total sense it makes in its complete lack of sense.
The first night spent out after a breakup is all sorts of lonely. Nevermind the couples following you from bar to bar to bar, or your phone that lies still instead of vibrating inside your purse, its the knowledge that you have no one to call on that walk home and no one to crawl into bed with and no one to see tomorrow or the day after that or the one after that after that after that. A night out with some of your best girls is most perfect when it ends with your best boy. Its those moments that happen in the midst of a conversation shouted over the noises of a crowded bar, those moments when you pause and touch your hand to your heart and remember how he'd hugged you just before you'd left and said "everytime I see you, you catch me in a new way" as the noises and conversations pull you back.
And as good as the beer tastes going down and as much as you laugh and share and connect, you can't help but check your watch and think about how you should probably get going soon so as not to wake him too late. And your heart thump thumps as you walk outside and reach for your phone and dial that familiar number and it rings once twice before his voice comes through and all you can think to say is "hi." And it might be winter and it might be summer, but either way it doesn't matter because that walk is the only thing standing between you and his warm bed and his warm arms and his warm kiss sending you to sleep.
So last night, sitting in a crowded bar with loud conversations and louder music coming from the jukebox, I laughed and I shared and I connected but I did not pause to touch my hand to my heart because there was no boy to miss and no boy to call and no boy to run home to. But now that I think about it, that never happened once over the past three months. His phone was off, or he was sleeping and I didn't feel free enough to wake him. So then I ask myself, what is it that I'm even missing? Sure there was sharing and connecting and laughing, and guards came crumbling down and futures were imagined and histories told, but at that moment when the beer is swimming through me and the lights are dimmed, I don't think about any of that stuff I call progress. It was always only ever anticipation for a late night reunion.
And so is this me 'accepting'? Or is this me realizing that sometimes people are rebounds even when they don't seem like it because they give you the hope of something more and something comforting and something familiar when that something is all you need to hold on to.
Yes, I'm still upset about what I've lost, but I'm begining to wonder what exactly that was.