Perfect Storms

chapter one

"He's the air I would kill to breathe, holds my love in his hands, still I'm searching"
Breathe Again ~Sara Bareilles

Two weeks later:
I never sent that letter. I wrote it down on pen and paper and cried over it and then threw it in a box under my bed filled with other important documents and long forgotten song lyrics. My writers block finally faded and I spent the past week furiously writing and sketching out every raw emotion I felt over my guitar, my piano, my song book. It wasn't the stuff 1989 was made of. It was bittersweet, deep and personal. I knew I would never publish it. But song writing had always been therapy for me. Usually, past breakups would prompt not only new music but social interactions. Normally during this stage in the break up process I would go out with my girlfriends and party whether it be at clubs or in my kitchen. But not this time. I retreated to my New York home. The idea of staying in LA was sickening. In fact I had not stepped foot inside my Beverly Hills cottage bedroom since the split. Me and Adam had spent all our time there, what with him working in LA on his new album and me having nothing to do. I had fought management to give my an extended 3-year break from music just to spend time with Adam and focus on our relationship. It was a struggle due to the fact I was possibly at the greatest height of my career. But at the time I thought it was worth it, for him. Clearly he did not think the same. The idea of being there was just too painful.
I was twenty-six now and knew better than to spend time crying over boys. But in light of everything I experienced with Adam, I couldn't look through the house, through the streets and not see something that reminded me of him.
I would find pieces of him in everything. I would replay nights spend together. All those times we would talk about silly things or watch tv shows or go out for coffee or go swimming in his pool. All of it brought back memories I didn't want anymore. They were not mine to take anymore. He wasn't mine to remember anymore.
It had been a week now but the pain of losing my best friend still lingered. It practically consumed me. I spent most of my time writing and thinking. And being sad and hating being sad.
I think the hardest part of losing someone isn't having to say goodbye, God knows it would be too soon when one day we cross paths at some music event. No the worst part was having to learn to live without them. Always trying to fill the emptiness left inside your heart when they go. I think the weirdest thing is when you stop talking to someone and you still have all this left over information them. Like you still know their favorite song, you know their siblings names, you remember their favorite ice cream flavor and their weird dreams that they told you about at 2am. You know their cat's name and their favorite movies. You learned all these details about them and now they are gone. It's just weird.
I flew to New York. The only logical thing to do. I aimlessly wandered my apartment thing what the hell was I to do. I had no deadlines, no contracts to sign, no music to make. I did not feel like seeing my friends. No I did not feel like enduring their sympathy or whatever else they would try to do to make me feel better, cheer me up. I did not want to be cheered up I wanted to cry on domes shoulder. See the problem was it would seem all I wanted to do was talk about my break up with Adam but the only person I wanted to talk about my break up with Adam was with... well Adam.
It was around 9:25pm when I heard the ring of my phone. I knew very well it would not be Adam but I had this weird feeling inside me and checked anyways. The number had no name attached to it. This took me by surprise due to the fact almost no one got a hold of my number that I didn't know about. I was slightly scared to open the message but I decided to anyways. And so it read:
Miss Taylor,
Hello it's Tom, we met at the Met Gala a month ago when you gave me this number. I do not know why it took me so long to finally message you, my sincerest apologies. I was hoping we could still keep in touch. I hope this is still your number. -Tom

My heart and mind were so numb I had to read the message twice before it registered. I was trying desperately to remember who he was. The text message sounded more like a formal letter.
Tom. Tom. Tom. Oh yes, Tom Hiddleston now I remember. Extremely polite. I remember he offered to accompany me at the Met Gala after Adam had selfishly refused to go. That was a big night for me, being co-chair and all. I remember dancing with him. If my heart had not been ripped out of my chest I would have been giddy with excitement to receive a text from him. He was very well known in the UK as an actor. Although, funny enough, his breakthrough role was in an American movie, as a comic book super villain.
I decided to text him back although all I could come up with was "hey." I sent it anyways. I had to applaud him for taking that extremely awkward first step. A month delayed too that's dedication. He replied a minute later.
"I find myself in New York of all places this week and I was wondering if we could go out for tea or something?"
Everything inside me screamed no. If I was avoiding my friends, avoiding him would be harder. But something inside me stirred to say yes. I don't know maybe it had something to do with the fact he practically  saved my ass at the Gala by being my impromptu date. So I replied.
"Yeah is tomorrow good?"
"Perfect."
We arranged a place a private one, outside the city. The last thing I needed was pictures of myself with another man.
After that I tucked myself into bed. For the first night in a while I felt a little more content with myself. Adam destroyed my heart and then walked away like it was nothing. I had to believe in myself. Believe I could still be happy without him. Believe I was still good enough. That's all I had to be, good enough.

//
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