The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

I see you less and less in strangers. You used to pop up everywhere.

You were the passenger in the back of the bus with his face smushed against the window watching the asphalt rush by. You were the waiter at the restaurant with the too loud laugh and smirky smile reciting the evening specials. You were the friend of a friend at last Friday’s party, just in for the weekend and mixing drinks like a pro. I saw you everywhere, I saw you often, and my stomach would plummet each time.

Because I would want it to be you as badly as I didn’t.

I spent this weekend revisiting our old places with someone new. In case you're wondering, I experienced a kind of wistful déjà vu but none of the sadness I was expecting.

The scent of fried dough and buttery popcorn thickened the air while the vendors smiled blandly and methodically ladled food onto outstretched plates. My shrimp lay nestled in their bed of creamy grits, no different than six months ago. But this time around, I didn’t need any comforting from my comfort food.