04 February 2006

Prelude

Honestly, I think that sometimes I forget that I don't HAVE to just wait to say the things I need to say. I don't have to wait 'till someone ASKS. I can just type or talk or whatever.

A year ago I went on a date with a boy. He was handsome and charming and shy and protective. He walked in front of me, his pinky interlaced with mine, excusing us through a crowd. He sat on a couch while my roommates and I signed to each other, and he rolled his eyes when I made jokes at either of our expenses.

Today he sits in Iraq doing God knows what, emailing me every few days with short, terse sentences. It's almost 13 months to the day since I've seen him, and still I think of him. My heart hates to let go.

But I will. Not of him, necessarily. But of the ghosts I've let haunt me for almost two years. The ghosts of good-byes and shouting matches and thrown woks and anger and hurt and solitude. I'm not going to let myself watch another year go by while I sit pissed off or sad or inept on the sidelines. Man, I hate clich├ęs.

Saturday nights are for suckers.

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