“Yesterday I feel in love, today looks like my funeral. I just got hit by a bus, shouldn’t have been so beautiful. Don’t know why I gave my heart, gave my trust, gave everything. You think that If I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d do something different; make better decisions. Save me from my ignorance… I see the danger but I go forward” Diddy Dirty Money

Here’s the truth: I love him, I’m in love with him and I want to be loved by him— only two of these things will fade away.

We hear the story time and time again of the emotionally unavailable guy whose taxi light goes on magically just as you, desirably patient woman, lift your hand to hail a cab. It’s then and there that the dude is ready to settle down and commit. You just happen to be the lucky passenger along for the ride. We never hear of the countless women he picked up illegally, when his light was off and he was looking for a quick buck. Those women definitely suffer more — I’m gonna start a support group.

We, who keep flagging the same cab, going to destinations outside of the chosen path, throwing money away, throwing money at the problem: Hoping your time and resources will be the solution. You become enamored of his cracked vinyl seats. You love the musty stench enclosed in the 4 door sedan, the way the leather creaks as you shift into a more comfortable position, trying to make yourself fit into the cabin by adding your tender touches to his masculine domain. But just like Cinderella’s stepsisters, your feet don’t fit the shoe.

Whenever he even mentions the need to stop, pick up a different passenger, hints that this may be your final destination… You entice him with all the tricks in your repertoire. The scarf you sleep in becomes the flower accent on your plain-Jane jacket; wearing lipstick as eye shadow, painting beauty marks with eye liner. Anything and everything you can think of to make yourself appear new, exciting, coveted by his way-ward attention.

You’re addicted to him and thus love the noxious noise that he calls music. Soon the catchy tune inside the car becomes your theme song, only to realize the top 40 hits all talk about loving and leaving these sad women along the way. Mid finger snap and head bop you acknowledge that your anthem also makes you a statistic.

And who do you have to blame? Yourself and yet at the same time, be kind. It’s easy to fall when you crave to be the exception, and when the cabbie takes his Adderal, you feel like you are. Your desire to be the only one lumps you in an unattractive category with all the other “exceptions” legitimately labeled “the rule”. All the faces look like yours: pitiful, hurt, distrustful, broken; and yet you still harbor hope for the one who got away. Feeling like his actions say things he’s unable to hear. It hurts to let him be free when you wish your love would capture him.

“I broke my heart this mornin’, Ain’t got no heart no more. Next time a man comes near me, Gonna shut an’ lock my door, Cause they treat me mean— the ones I love. They always treat me mean.” Langston Hughes.

Can’t seem to get the image of us standing together in front of the mirror and thinking how good we looked together; starring at our reflection, wondering if your eyes alight with the same happiness as mine.

I want to write you a thousand letters of poetry, sonnets that remind you of me, words that stream like rivers mirroring the flow of my tears. I’m tired of fighting for you but I’m restless and hallow without you. In simple terms I miss you, but voiceless I can’t even express how much.

“I asked you, baby, If you understood— You told me that you didn’t, But you thought you would.” – Langston Hughes.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Dream a little Dream « The Soundtrack of My Life

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