I hadn't seen her in over a decade. It had been at least a couple years since I last had woken up in a cold sweat knowing she wouldn't ever be part of my life again. And here I was, on the way to my second brunch of the day, calm enough to take a little nap with my crumpled shirt and jacket as a pillow, without a thought for the complete mess I was making of myself. After all, I was totally over her. I had mastered the twelve steps. I could have a polite brunch and continue on to my parents' house for a rousing game of Scrabble. If it was awkward, I had my sister and brother-in-law there to make it a little less so; after all, my bro-in-law hadn't even met her before. Hastily throwing back on my hopelessly creased shirt and blazer, I walked up to her front door without hesitation, and was hopelessly blindsided.
I didn't see her coming. She turned the corner, having come down the side exit to meet me, and my ribcage has felt like the bone equivalent of one of those stupid shrunken hipster sportcoats ever since. Four hours later, waiting for the valet to bring our car back around, my brother-n-law, ever the consummate polite southern gentleman, broke the thoughtful silence. "Yeah, Tim, now I can safely say, you really fucked up."
My name is Tim, and I have loved.