Rather Not Write About Her

Those who were closest to our hearts are never far away from our feels. I don’t want to be back in the relationship with them, but I can’t quite get clear of some magnetic tagging of the iron in my blood. She is still with me at times.

I’m not a hopeless romantic, I’m a flat-out 18th-century romantic. I fall. I fall hard. And when I break I shatter into tiny clear blocks of glass. I have lost myself a number of times over the last 24 hours. I’ve wrestled with the impulse to text or email her.

And here I am writing a love letter that she will never see. And later, I’ll read this to my girlfriend and we’ll have an awkward silence.

She is in my life now. There is no room for alterna-girl’s potential recarbonation. I don’t write many happy love songs. Loss and loneliness are closer to my muse.

The heart is a lonely hunter.

Here’s the odd part about my particular heart. I can be 100% securely connected. I can feel the full force of a lover. And, holy crap, still experience moments of loneliness and regret. Mostly it’s about my kids, my divorce, and my belly button. I’m never surprised when it’s another woman’s belly button.

I’ve got my belly button and I’ve got one other belly button orbiting within my known universe. I’m tired of giving other lovers space in my soul. This will not be the last song, story, or poem about them.

Read more Short-Short Stories from John.