Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist

Seagulls swarm above an empty parking lot, perpetually encircling a white mini van. The driver lazily tosses salted French fries out the window. I close my eyes to the sun dripping in from the windshield, desperately trying to remember the names of men I’ve once doted on. It’s a strange feeling, they were once the center of my universe and now the names escape me. I search on Facebook, startled as the lost relics roll off my lips. They still look the same, but so much time has elapsed. New partners and smiling faces. Girlfriends. Even wives. Its almost a prophecy, it seems. After a man sleeps with me, being put through the shit, he is destined to find the one–when youre at rock bottom, the only way is up. They’ve moved on, but I am still gutted. I am cut open at the ribcage and spent countless hours pouring over myself, bandaging the festering wound until it reopens. My responsibility. Their harm. Its so unfair, but life isnt fair. There aren’t any apologies, no happy endings. Just quiet disappointment, semi-forgivness and the ability to move on. Have we really moved on, past the guilt and arguments? Do they too drift from time to time, thinking about me? I couldnt say. I dare not reach out and rekindle an old spark. I dont hold my breath