Hello, Lover

She’s there, standing right there in front of him
And the two steps forward separating their paths seem less heavy
And less likely to cross than the Brooklyn Bridge
In his steel toe Timberlands
Waiting by the curb, twiddling her restless fingers
Making fists inside her down coat pockets, and blowing frostbite smoke from her quivering lips
She’s waiting
For his piercing blue eyes, and messy brown scruff
To find their way
Back to her
Back home around the bends
For him
To meet her on the corner for a late afternoon catch up
A latte, or cappuccino
Maybe they’d share a beer, it was almost quarter past noon
She didn’t care either way
Conversation, she missed the first days and easy flirtations
The jitters, the half- dead lavender rose he handed her with a mischievous grin
The beginning days
Well, come on cross the street
Meet her less than halfway
He adjusted his scarf and collar, and looked directly into her eyes
Holding her gaze
Pulling down his skullcap, he turned away
He turned away
He turned and walked off
The daylight and black rims hid the tears she wiped quickly, absentmindedly from her face
Shocked, not shocked
Oh so typical
Oh God, not another one
She’s been down and around the bends before
Not with him, perhaps
Perhaps she should’ve removed her shades
But, oh there had been so many others
No different, no different at all
Messy brown boy replicas
One, two, three…and then four and five
Smiling through frozen tears
She closed her eyes, and began to stitch up the heartache
With her steel fortress hardened mind
Boots unable to move, feet frozen in sub zero temperatures and time
There he was…
He was nice number three, or wait was he four?
His long brown, bleach blond curly hair, the carefree surfer dude with sunlight bouncing off his wet skin and toned abs
He made her fidgety, uncomfortable in her two-tone speedo and striped tan
He wasn’t afraid of the depths she kept hidden or the mercurial ocean tidal pools of emotion
He wasn’t put off by her weirdo ways, quirky ideas or razor sharp tongue
He didn’t need to stand tall and puff out his chest
With his laid-back mind and chill temperament
She sat back in the sand, perched up on her elbows fully aware of his eyes on her back
Her dusk ombre shadow grew far from his as the sun descended slowly
That was okay
She didn’t mind the distance
It would be dark soon, anyway
And they would wait together for the evening’s stars
Sitting silent with the day’s promise
And sand fights, dirty towels, flip flop giggles, tacos and cheap shot wine All in good fun banter
It was just right for a little while
She wasn’t exactly unafraid, unsure of the man boy
She was uncertain of the empty promises from the others
The exact types that came before
He would become a stitch eventually in her already broken heart
Dirty, brown boys
Her first broke her like a Wild Mustang
Broke her for all others
The oh so fancy honest to God Rock star
She loved him, swooned and crooned at seventeen
He was too famous and the biggest liar she’d met thus far
Seventeen was a lifetime ago of music men, and silly romantic love songs
The first of too many sad
Dirty, brown boys who would break her heart, smash it, stomp on it
Pimp her out to the band
For fuck’s sake
She was lanolin pretty, sexy sweet and delicious
Innocent, strong, smart, loyal, independent, funny, tender and naïve
Standing on the bitter cold corner, in yet another delusional big city
Snot pouring from her nose without a tissue
She’d cried this scenario before
She looked around as the pedestrians rudely bumped into her
Taxis flew by, and the streetlight went yellow, then red, and green twenty times
The stitches in her raw and freshly torn open heart growing thick
They would become scar tissue on top of scar tissue
Hurting less now then they did way back when
She’d have to find another corner, an alternate route home, and a new and different favorite coffee shop
If a dirty, brown boy came through the next door she swore she wouldn’t look up
Who was she kidding?
Her heart was already busted and her pride
Well, like a bee stinger removed it couldn’t hurt any worse
Or any less
Around the bends
Timing, a little luck and new promise waited
Inside her black felt, fringe hipster purse
Buried beneath her favorite red lipstick, an old flip phone, her beat up leather wallet, kohl eyeliner, chewing gum, sticky notes and various crap was a teeny, tiny sewing kit
For mending
She kept close it over the years
Holding tight to needle and thread

Photo Credit: brieuc_s Flickr via Compfight cc

  1. Dori,

    Thank you so much… Vintage is right. And I still haven’t learned my lesson. ha.
    You are one of a kind. How could anyone miss an opportunity to be in your company…
    Someday, your someone will make everyday feel like the first.

    xoxo. 🙂

  2. Yes, deep sigh for those many layers of self-protection needed (in love and in these times) and the powerful image of mending and stitching ourselves back together when our hearts are broken. Thank you, Jackie.

  3. How I love this so…deep sigh. Stories within stories within stories. Vintage Jackie–so fine.
    “Conversation, she missed the first days and easy flirtations” Oh, me too. Me, too.

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