Dear John who’s name wasn’t John,

This particular past July day was humid and high in temperature, just as those before and after it. The heat, so overwhelming that even the clouds sweat, relieving us with all the rainfall. Everything happened so smoothly and swiftly, that it wasn’t until afterward that I processed it in all of its dimensions.

I had finally grabbed his attention. But now, thinking back, I realize  I was just a pleasurable object, easily available. Soon to be easily accessible. We’d stood in the rain, lips locked, just as they depict in the movies. All of which caused my heart to accelerate in beating, but leave his at the same pace.

I should’ve never. But I did. This experience no more necessary to gain than the other I had previously. I was miserable, I only allowed myself to indulge with high hopes that it would be different. It wasn’t. Because he was more fucked up than I.

Although, he’d never guess that from the way I was talking. That’s the thing about me: I have a great ability to surface complete bullshit.

Like I said, he’d never know that. Nobody would by just watching me from a distance. Because that would mean someone would actually have to invest in me. And nowadays, everyone’s chasing time. It was odd, until the past events that had transpired between us, I hadn’t remembered his words: ” Not interested in a relationship.”

To be fair, I hadn’t known those same words also spelled “Easy come, easy go”. That’s what I was after all, wasn’t I. Easy. Maybe that’s why he never spoke to me or displayed interest after the fact. Everything got fucked up. I became so consumed in all of what I was assuming he’d now think of me. For I wasn’t anything of what I appeared. After this summer I really dove into the question of why I exhibit such behaviors and characteristics that are so distant to the true me. I thought we’d share a common interest, but then again if he did, was that even my own self he’d be alike?  Regardless of this new identity crisis I had secretly and quietly endured through this past August,  I thought he was different. He wasn’t. Just as miserable as the others I knew before him.

So then, I impose a theory…. Wasn’t it all bullshit?  Had I not understood all the limitations and restrictions he’d set prior the events about to unfold that afternoon or was the world, were people, that fucked up?  It’s pretty low to use someone like that, but then again it’s only fair to then question the word “used” as a construct.

Anyways, whatever I thought I felt faded and crumbled, just as the leaves in the now Fall season. I, just as the leaves when ready to start anew, will be reborn.

         Sincerely, with what was much like, ” By Yours Truly,” Unwept soul 

2 Comments on “Dear John who’s name wasn’t John,

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