The Great Fast

I'm having an Eat, Pray, Love kind of Spring.

Is it even technically Spring?
I know it's almost Easter and the beautiful cherry blossom trees have been making me sneeze for weeks.
Allergies. Pastels. Yep.
Most certainly sounds like Spring.

I'm reeling from a break up.
Except that really isn't accurate.
Because it's not like we hate each other or never want to see each other again.
It was actually my doing.
I initiated the breakup.
And he sent me roses the next day.
The first time he'd ever bought me flowers.

He at least has a wicked sense of humor, no?

I hate this stage.
The trying to understand and make sense of it all stage.
Because it never helps and you never actually figure anything out.
You can speculate and postulate and maybe years along the line you'll have a mostly accurate objective gauge of it all.
But right now I just miss my friend.
And I miss the sex.

He's not ready for something serious.
Which makes it hard for my little girly brain to understand why he was so adamant about saying he loved me and wanted me in his future all those months.
We change our minds.
We're fickle.
And we lie.

The weird part of it all is that as much as I want to be back with him, I also just want a new relationship.
I never get to be the girl who jumps from one lovers arms to another.
I'm like a humpback whale.
I have one great love and then don't even get close for y.e.a.r.s.
Lord have mercy.

What I would give to be like those women who are so busy meeting some new fabulous guy that they don't even have time to process their last relationship.
I have a girlfriend who met the current love of her life while she was still living with her previous love of her life.
She just upgraded to a new and improved model and within weeks they're jetting off to Vegas and color coordinating their outfits.
No tears. No 'Why oh why' just out with the old, in with the new.

I don't think I'm built for that kind of transition.

I went out with a guy this week who kissed me at the end of our date.
And I should have been thrilled.
He's cute and we had fun and he thinks I'm the bee's knees.
But I just felt weird.
I felt weird being kissed by someone who wasn't the man I'm still in love with.

But I know I have horrible taste and no sense when it comes to men!
I found these old notes from a year and a half ago, when I was hung up on the douchiest of douchebags, before I met Mr. Cartier.
He was such an overwhelmingly obvious epic mistake and yet I still got my feelings in a twist over it.

So now, I've made an escape for myself, at a friend's beach house, thinking that somehow if the ocean was near, everything would magically piece itself together and life could make sense again.

But it doesn't.
And I told Mr. Cartier that we needed to have nothing to do with each other for awhile.
Because he "doesn't know what our future is" and I am not the kind of woman to sit and wait for any man.

So I'm using this time to move on.

But it's really fucking bittersweet trying to train your heart to stop loving someone who isn't strong enough to choose you.
He loves me, with a boy's love.
And I am longing for the love of a man.

Time does funny things to us.
I used to think waiting was romantic.
And now I know romance is a most inconvenient, ridiculous ruse stirring discontent in the hearts of those who'd truthfully be overjoyed with contentment just to lay in his arms, snores stirring their sleep.
But still smiling, that silly fool is mine.