The Date.


Read The Text first!

After almost eight years I finally asked her out for coffee.
She brilliantly changed it to drinks.

I got there earlier and picked a table facing the door. 
I wanted to be the first to spot her.

And so, I barely blinked, 
holding my glass of water with both hands to prevent me from shaking the whole seven-minute wait.

There she was, looking even more beautiful than the day we met.

She smiled when her eyes met mine. 
She walked towards me in slow motion. 
My heart pounded loudly as I stood up to greet her.

We gave each other the fastest hug in history and then sat down. 
I tried to stop starting and be cool (which I am NOT).

We ordered our much-needed drinks.

I miserably failed at making small talk, until my mind went blank. 
So I looked deep into her eyes and I said: My mind just went blank.

Being the superstar that she is, 
she saved the day by asking specific questions about me.

It’s so strange to brief someone on full years of your life.
Especially when that someone used to be the person you would speak to the most at some point in time.

Before we knew it, we were talking like old times: 
fluid conversations filled with laughter. 
I even felt comfortable enough to shed a tear when I told her about my father passing away.

After a couple of drinks, it suddenly felt warmer, 
so I took off my denim jacket, showing more skin than before.

I CLEARLY caught her eyes heading towards my cleavage.

Aren’t ego boosters just DE-LIGHT-FUL?

I straightened my back. 
I grinned proudly. 
I watched her look away, then back at me. 
Our eyes locked. She knew I had watched her, watching me.

All my insecurities about looking older were now out the door. 
I started getting the confidence to believe, that kissing her tonight would be possible.

UNTIL, the subject of our breakup was brought up. 
Not by me of course (what am I, stupid?).

Once again, she asked a specific question. 
One that had been in her mind since the day we last saw each other: Had I cheated?

I came clean. I cheated on her one night before breaking up.

But cheating is not just cheating, is it?

You don’t throw away your favorite cake over another. 
You don’t just leave the most meaningful relationship you have ever had...
What do you call it? The love of your life.
The love of my life.

She took my confession better than I thought. 
We talked more to get to the roots of our relationship’s demise.

She acknowledges how hurtful she could be if she felt vulnerable, 
which would happen more and more often towards the end of our relationship, 
once I told her I wanted to move across the country.

Now, a reasonable and mature adult 
could potentially respond to hurtful words with something along the lines of: 
"Darling, you do not mean what you are saying, let’s discuss this when you’ve calmed down."

I mean, at the very least, I should have shown some kind of response, ANY KIND.

But what did I do? Not that!

I kept all those bruises in a tiny part of my brain. 
You know which, the one that doesn’t forget. Like, ever.

Until one day, BAM! All those things I didn’t deal with, 
made me become the person that can’t deal with any of it, at all.

I threw away the cake.

I moved across the country.

I closed shop.


We both went silent for years. 
I thought with time I would forget the love I felt for her. 
Until one day I had a panic attack and I texted her almost six years after our breakup.

Because, guess what? 
All that love and all the good things were hidden in that tiny part of my brain. 
You know which, the one that doesn't forget. 
And BAM! I could not hold it any longer.

Time had passed so quickly, that the bar was now closing. 
You forgot we were in a bar, didn’t you?

And that window I had seen earlier, 
the one in which this night ended with us kissing, was closed as well.

All that serious breakup talk made my ego boost disappear.

It was time to say goodnight. 
We hugged awkwardly and I watched her walk away.

On the flip side, I guess we both grew up. You know, like rational adults. 

Now, when I have something on my mind,
I actually use words and full sentences.
I even write them down sometimes.

What gets to me, 
is that for so long she convinced herself I didn’t love her to begin with, 
assuming she was just a phase to me. 
I needed more time to convince her otherwise. 
Hell, I don’t even know if she loved me back.

All night I wanted to hold her hand. 
On that last hug, I didn’t want to let go. 
I wanted her to come home with me.

Instead, here I am. In your car.

I’m sorry, is this too personal for an Uber trip?

Oh shit! She’s texting.

Sir, I just changed my destination on the app. She wrote: “Is it too soon for a second date?”.


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