to be so lonely • hs

thirty

Dinner after the gallery had been an interesting one. Harry and I sat across from one another, careful not to raise any suspicions but failing to do so as we giggled each time our eyes met, the skin on our cheeks pink from the encounter only we knew about.

As I lied in bed hours later, I couldn't quite shut my eyes. Staring up at the ceiling, I watched our kiss, rewinding the moment as if it were a vhs tape recording.

It took a few moments to register what we were doing, and I grew a bit worried when he suddenly stopped kissing me back, though it quickly left as I felt his lips form into a smile before he further deepened the kiss. We parted soon after, the two of us unsure of what to say, little moments of uncontrollable smiles and laughter every time we locked eyes on the car ride to the restaurant, which had been filled with random and completely pointless conversation. Things like the quality of the weather, and how nice the pastries had been.

Maybe it was an attempt to avoid talking about it, or because, for the night, it felt better not to.

I wasn't sure if that was the best way to go about things, though, because the next few days were filled with an absurd amount of doubt. I could hardly focus on anything without questioning myself.

I kept going back to that day outside of the deli, when Harry told me we couldn't see each other. I went back to the solid month and a half after, and quite honestly, before, when I cried each day— my heart simply unable to heal from the hole his leaving had caused. I cried in the stalls at work, and on drives home, when I knew I'd be unlocking the door to complete silence. I cried when the sun went down, because it meant it'd be time for bed soon, and he wouldn't be lying asleep with me.

It took me so long to finally stop crying, and move on from the situation. But as I sat in bed, my windows open, the cool air seeping in and the hum of the city below amplifying the lonesome feeling I'd been battling, I knew that it never really had been the case. I was quite upset still, about everything.

I was upset that Harry and I didn't try hard enough to work things out before, and that we even attempted being friends when we were both overwhelmingly in love. I was upset we hurt each other: me by pretending I wasn't affected, and him by taking the wrong approach in moving on.

Mostly though, I was upset that I had spent so long convincing myself that I had moved on from him, that I never properly did. Because as much as I had suppressed the feeling, I was foolish to think we wouldn't be in this exact position now, the moment he knocked on my door all those months ago.

I was also foolish to allow myself to be blinded by all of the things going well, and forget why things fell apart in the first place.

I knew deep down that I'd wanted to kiss him when my eyes landed on his tired ones, when he was drunk on my couch and upset over his ex-girlfriend. But I was so angry then, it didn't matter at all.

I knew again many times after that, and grew less angry as it went on. We were smiling, and happy together, and everything felt wonderful, and we finally kissed.

But what were we to do now? Forget about the five years prior and begin new? I simply couldn't, as badly as I might have wanted to. When it came down to it, the problems we had when we separated were still relevant, and the thing that made me so angry after, still made me quite upset. As happy as I had been spending our time together recently, I knew it'd take more for us to be truly good again.

Slipping my sneakers on, I stood from my bed and decided I wouldn't be handling things this way again. I wouldn't sit here with my worries when Harry was only streets away. We had all the time in the world to sit alone in our homes and question ourselves, and it felt unproductive to do so.