On The Count Of Three

There is nothing I could write that could save us, is there?

There is no song you could hear that would bring you here.

There is no book we could read that could get you to come back to me. 

We are simply grieving a fantasy, aren't we?

There is nothing else for us to do but to let go. 

 . . .

So, babe, why can't we let go? 

. . .

Would you want to let go of each other at the same time? Would that help?

You let go of me on the count of three, and I’ll let go of you on the count of two. Got it?

Alright. Ready?

1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Did you let go of me?

No? . . . Well, I didn’t let go of you, either. Shit, babe, what're we supposed to do?

. . .

Mariah wants to set me up with her son’s preschool teacher, but I’m only allowed to meet her if I am completely over you. 

I didn’t respond to her for a few days. “I can’t honestly say that I am completely over her, but I am trying to be,” I say eventually.

I’m not ready to move on but what choice do I have? You have a boyfriend that you spend every night with. And, it’s been five months since we broke up. It’s probably time for me to start dating again. You are 1,600 miles away and you have no real plans of coming back to me, just whimiscal fantasies.

You can’t say you were immediately replaced. You weren’t. You were loved. And then I waited. I wasn’t chasing, just waiting. I was waiting for you to realize the mistake you made. But while I was waiting for you, you were moving back in with him. I shouldn’t have waited. I shouldn’t have let you back in after you so swiftly broke what we were building together. I shouldn’t have allowed you to have access to me after that. But I did. I’m learning. 

. . .

I went on a few dates with a technical writing professor a few months ago. She was gorgeous but I talked about you the entire time. She reminded me so much of you—too much like you. It freaked me out. I thought I blew it with her but we still text every once-in-awhile. She has an 11 year old kid, though, so I don’t see a real future there. I actually only see a future with you. 

. . .

And I went on a date with a smoking hot 24 year old blonde. She was a mess. She was piss drunk when I met her and she was with a group of friends. It wasn't fun. I was miserable. We must’ve said four sentences to each other, one of them being, “Do you want to do coke in the bathroom?” “Nope,” I said quickly. 

. . .

Last weekend I ran into an old friend and she was with two of her friends—one of them was stunning. She was in a bikini; sunbathing and reading. After thirty minutes of talking, they invited me to get a drink with them. So I did. And I talked to the stunning lady in the bikini for hours, while we all got drunk together. The four of us coincidentally all had been through a breakup recently. They asked me about you. I told them a few things. Ironically, talking about how I felt about you seemed to melt these ladies. They want to be loved the same way I loved you. But, they aren’t you, just bad replica’s. They want what we had so bad. They’re jealous of you. It’s true. We took what we had for granted; I know that because of how badly others wish they had it. We took what he had for granted, and now, on the count of three, you have to let go of me. And on the count of two, I have to let go of you. 

. . . 1 . . .

. . . 2 . . . 

. . . 3 . . .

Did you let go of me this time, babe? . . .

. . . Babe?

. . .

CH 4/11/26