I promised myself this would be the very last time I ever mention or think about my ex-girlfriend and our relationship. This is necessary if I plan to move on and continue my life’s journey. She has her way of dealing with it, and I have come up with my own method of moving on and closing the book on that period of my life. This story will act as the bookend to the last year of my life.
Sitting on the dining room table was a cell phone and heavily taped cardboard box, addressed to Josef Crowman, that would be I, standing over the contents, debating which of the two should I use first. My right hand hesitantly hovered over top of the items as I imagined both a pleasant and unpleasant ending to the situation.
I reached for the phone first, dialing the first number atop the Favorites list of my Contacts application. My breathing became heavy as I began to sweat profusely while awaiting the receiver of the call to answer. To my surprise, the call switched over to voice mail, causing me to believe she no longer wanted to speak to me. I tried again, hoping she felt as I did, sad, lonely and incomplete.
My heart—what little remained after the breakup—needed her more than it did it’s next beat. The night does to me, bringing on the memories that my mind refuses to let go of, crippling me as I would sit around reminiscing over her. I had finally reached the endgame of it all, and those two items that were on the table would be a forked road, and I stood in-between, awaiting a sign from each side as to where I was meant to go. Continue Reading