“But he gave me butterflies,” she
whispered. And she was right; he did at one point. If it were up to her, they
would be in the same position. He would be kissing her nose, and she would be
running her hands through his hair. They would wake up groggy because they are
not morning people. He would make her coffee even when he doesn’t drink it
himself. She would laugh at his jokes knowing he just wanted to fill silence.
In her mind, he was it. He would have loved her dad. He would have fallen in
love with her passion.
The reality hits her once in a
while; she wasn’t good enough. The butterflies that once inhabited her innards
are gone, but they left a ring of dirt. With their absence went the memory. His
voice no longer lingers. His exact words no longer wander and worm their way
through her mind. All that remains is the memory of his touch: his caressing
her hair, his lips on hers, his arms pulling her closer. She doesn’t know why
he is still on her mind. She doesn’t know why she can’t get over him. On the outside,
she’s holding on to something that isn’t there. On the inside, she’s holding on
to the way he made her feel.
 |
| [source] |
“Get up,” I tell her. “Get up,
it’s all going to be okay. I understand how you’re feeling, but it’s time to
move on. I know you’re fantasizing about meeting him again, but it may not
happen the way you want it to. You need to face that reality. Get out there and
meet other people. I know he’s not going to be the last one of his kind because
I know that’s what you think. You deserve someone who’s going to put you first
the first time. If you hold on to him, you’re going to miss the next guy who is
going to knock on your door. Please, get up.”
She is not easily persuaded.
“You deserve better,” I plead.
“But he gave me butterflies,” my
heart replies.
Comments
Post a Comment