I hate coming home drunk and alone. Mostly because I don't understand how after everything that's happened and all of my understanding I can still somehow be in love with him, if only a little, if only it hurts when I go home drunk and alone. I know that I have good friends, and that a lot of people love me, and that I am special. That somewhere out there is My Boy, that love, if I want it, is there for the taking. But after Greyson broke my heart I vowed never to settle for second best. And I have stuck to that. Even just for freshman year of college dating I wait for something more than just a flurry of butterflies. I have to feel it in my bones, without reservation.
So I wait, and I trust in a Higher Power of Some Kind that a love will happen where, on a Friday night, we fall asleep sober. His hands on my ribs and the place where my cheek and jaw and neck meet. And it will be good.