Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans

I guess I’ve been thinking too much again. I’ve all but given up on ever getting to be with Jake, although I miss him terribly; I still do not know what happened, and I still wonder if he left because I was a mess. I can be so harsh and abrasive, and I’m a mass of contradictions and trouble; I came with baggage and damage because the one person who’d promised me forever lied to me, cheated on me, and never had the courage to actually end the relationship, and I got scared a lot. Sometimes I feel like I was way more trouble than I was worth. I know I should move on because that would be the wise decision, the strong choice, but I have yet to get over him, even though it has been well over a year since he said it was over. My heart still break when he crosses my mind, and there are times when I need to hear his voice telling me it’s alright, and I know that can’t happen.

It seems others haven’t given up hope; my mother swears that he’s going to come back, though I find that hard to believe. She says that he still loves me, but I highly suspect that she is simply saying things to make me feel better; I’m sure that he’s moved on, and I hope he is happy. He is good man, and he will make some very lucky woman very happy; I hope whoever that woman is, she is grateful and kind and loving because he deserves that. My grandmama, who fell in love with him the moment she met him, is convinced that I will turn around and there he’ll be; she firmly believes that I just have to be patient and he’ll be back. I don’t think so. A tiny part of me still hold out hope that he will call me or show up, and I occasionally have these stupid heartbreaking dreams where there’s a knock at my door and I open it to find him standing there, waiting. I’m sure that someone else has come into his life, someone less damaged and crazy, and he’s happy. She probably swears less than I do, and she’s probably more of a lady than I’ll ever be. I think my nanny still secretly hopes that he will come back because he was smart and funny and well mannered and everything a good Southern man should be.

I will admit that there were times when the only bright spot in my day was the sound of his voice on the other end of the phone or a text message saying hi; no matter how crappy my day was, he could make me smile. I could be crying and miserable, and he’d make it better. I have moments, when I’m in tears and falling apart, that I reach for my phone and have to remind myself that I can’t call him, that he won’t answer, and he certainly will not come and kiss my tears away. I miss his smile, his laugh, the way he had so much faith in us and in God and in everything; I miss the way he held me tight, and I miss the way he’d sing in my ear when I was feeling terrible about myself. I miss the way he understood me better than anyone else, and he knows more about me than anyone else in the world; I shared all of myself with him. I just miss him. (I know you probably aren’t reading this, Jake, but on the off chance you are, I miss you, and I still love you.)

I’m trying hard not miss him so much because missing someone who isn’t interested in you is pointless, but it isn’t working. I’m trying not to wish we were still together, but it’s almost impossible. When he walked out of my life, I lost my best friend, which sounds really cheesy, but it’s true.