“Screw patience. Screw waiting. I want to be someone’s choice.” -Emily Owens, M.D.
I want a life full of moments: big ones, little ones, simple ones, extravagant ones…. I don’t really care, I’m not picky. I just don’t want a single one of those moments to go by wasted, without me taking full advantage of them, without me living them to the fullest, without me making sure what it feels like to be right there in that moment, the only one like no other….
I want a life of simple pleasures. I want a love with no drama. I want coffee in the mornings and a glass of good wine in the evenings. I want to sit on the couch and read a book or watch something funny on tv — something like what Chelsea Handler or Mindy Kaling would pull. Something just really, seriously funny. I’m so tired of crying. I am so tired of feeling sad all the time. I am so tired of being stressed out and taking myself seriously. I just want to laugh.
I want best friends. I want music. I want kissing. I want cooking and dancing and playing the Wii. I want to go bowling and roller skating and ice skating for the first time in my life. I want to get drunk as hell and do something stupid — like take all my clothes off and jump in the swimming pool.
I don’t want him to suffer. I don’t want him to pine for me. I don’t want him to walk the rest of his life wondering what might have been. I don’t want him to miss me or even think about me at all. I just want him to forget. I just want to be able to forget. I just want to go back to a time before there was all this distance and these words left unsaid between us. Or I never want to see him again. I want there to be so much literal distance and time between us that what happened just seems like a dream, like something that could not have possibly been real. But unfortunately, it was real… it was the realest thing that ever happened to me. And it’s still too real. This pain, the nauseating feeling that I get in my stomach every time I lay my eyes on his angel’s face, it’s real and it’s not going anywhere. And do I really want to forget? Do I really? No. Because if I forgot him, that would mean I would forget the best days of my life so far. It would mean I would forget the lessons he taught me and I would become again the hideous beast I once was: the selfish, thoughtless monster that nearly consumed me. And it did consume what might have been between us. It consumed the would-be passionate kisses and soft whispers and gentle touches. It consumed the vulnerability and the trust and the love that might have been and immediately walls of the coldest, hardest steel shot up between us. And it was over, just like that. All because I was scared. No, I don’t want to forget him. I hope I never, ever forget.