The other night, I dreamt that I had driven the thirteen hours to LA to spend Ash's last day in California with him: snuggling in the backseat of a car; listening to music; the wind rushing through my hair as we swerved on the 405; watching the sunset over the ocean. It ended climatically with a very stereotypical romantic comedy-esque airport goodbye. A long, deep kiss followed by me watching him board the plane as if security wasn't a thing that existed.
About a year ago, I had a husband and a boyfriend. They both knew about one another and I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Except for when my husband went out on a date with another woman. That day I decided to see what the barrel of a 9mm handgun tasted like.
The next time I visited our home town, I found myself autopilot driving to his house. I made myself turn around. The following night I locked eyes with a stranger who could have been his doppelganger. I shook myself. The next day I... thought I saw him walking down the sidewalk. So I allowed myself to zigzag up and down the streets for the duration of one song in pursuit of him. This all culminated in the fateful evening I discussed in my most recent post, featuring Google Assistant and a Venus razor refill. I shot him the classic "wyd" followed by a very embarrassing tangent.