This article was previously posted on Thoughtcatalog.com
I sometimes drive to that bar. Our bar.
I’ll never admit it, but I hope to see you.
I sometimes get in my car and drive.
Anywhere but here, I yell.
It’s just me and the open road.
Except, you and I both know where I’m headed.
I sometimes look up Airbnb prices where you live.
I look into car rentals.
I’m convinced that I’ll see you and everything will be the same.
I sometimes live in the past.
I imagine an ideal version of us.
A version that succeeds.
A version that’s filled with smiles.
A version that ends with you getting down on one knee.
And us moving into the suburbs.
A white picket fence life.
A version in which we get all we wanted and more.
I hope one day, we can sit down and reminiscent over the people we once were. Not in terms of our love. But in terms of how young an reckless we were.
I hope we can grab a drink and note how different our orders are - from drinking far too many amf’s to being all grown up ordering old fashions and glasses of wine.
I keep having this reoccurring dream.. I wake up in this white picket fence house.
It’s all I could ever want and so much more...
and yet I find myself living in this majestic place, only downside is I’m all alone.
I can't help but wonder if I was searching for all the wrong things.
If I never learned to be comfortable alone.
Here’s to the girls feeling so damn alone wondering when it’s their turn.