Coming to Terms with the Ex Files

He was yours first, I suppose.

And it doesn't matter whether you dated for 10 days or 10 years because the fact of the matter is, you beat me to it. You marked your territory before I even knew there was land to be found.

Though I envy you your history and your inextricably linked lives,  I don't envy you because you lost him. You turned your back. You let what you had wilt and decay into nothing. Well, not nothing. I found some scraps, I picked up the pieces. I spotted the stomped on seedling of a heart and nurtured it and cared for it and now it's mine. And dammit, I earned it. You don't deserve him if you couldn't figure out how to keep him yours.

He kisses me like his lips were made for mine, so I can't imagine how yours compare. I want to ask him whose lips win, but I don't, because even if he chooses me, I'd rather not turn his attention back to you for even a second.

As we get older, everyone's past becomes greater. I wish you weren't so much of his.

I've Got a Case of the Mondays

I miss you on Mondays because we eat and drink and breathe shared air for fifty straight hours until the bus rumbles me away from you and I'm all alone.

I miss you on Mondays because my body has to relearn the weight of its limbs without yours tangled in mine.

I miss you on Mondays because weekday workdays overflow with comedy GOLD and my texting thumbs can’t tap out the stories to you fast enough.

I miss you on Mondays because I’m stuck with just the food in front of me, when I’d rather fork tomatoes off your plate and steal the bubbles from your bubble tea.

I miss you on Mondays because I live weekend to weekend and the workweek just interrupts time that could be spent in your steady presence.

I miss you on Mondays because I can’t get enough of you. Because you make politics interesting. Because you laugh at my jokes. Because you don’t mock the lululemon poster in my bathroom. Because you bring me ice cream when I’m sick and wine when I’m happy and kiss me in public and tell me I’m beautiful.

Do you miss me on Mondays?

Texting with Boys

I feel validated. And yes, it’s because of a man. Sorry feminists.

He’s a stranger in theory. A stranger who I locked lips with because we felt like it. Because why not? He reminded me of that blonde guy from Sweet Home Alabama minus the southern accent. Or maybe he had one? I don’t remember – we didn’t talk much. And that was that.

But then what? A few errant texts. A lot of nothingness thumbed between phones. I got antsy. I wanted more. And didn’t want to be forgotten or ignored. So I made my move.

Despite carefully crafting my text to sound casual and cool, I still regretted it the instant I pressed send. I watched the little blue thought bubble appear in our chat, feeling anxious and stupid and unsure of myself. I felt rejected before I was even rejected because I seemed crazy. He’d sent all oneliners and I respond with a six line chunk of text (that's practically a novel in iphone world!) asking him out on a date?!? Who does that? Crazy girls. Crazy girls do that.

But then. Then! That glorious ellipsis. Oh thank you iphone for letting me know instantly that this stranger slash new friend has received my message and chosen to respond. It’s so painfully pathetic of me to watch and wait and watch and wait but still. It came! The "yes". The "of course". The "you’re-silly-I-was-going-to-ask-you-but-you-beat-me-to-it" text. All the best words combined together in the best sentence reaffirming my desirability. I was good enough to kiss, but this, this is better. This says I’m good enough to have a conversation with. I’m good enough to go out with. I'm worth getting to know beyond the taste of my strawberry chapstick.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t need some silly boy to remind me of my worth, but sometimes, it's just that simple.