Figuring Things Out
I was thinking of him while in the shower tonight. I couldn’t wait to talk to him on the phone after he read my story about us. The bar of soap hesitated on a part of me I hadn’t felt before — another one of those irritating moles I will need to have checked out. But this one is different, darker, irregular borders — all the signs we’re warned about.
I have to make an appointment with the doctor soon, but what if it’s serious this time? I don’t want to know. But yes, I do. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to go through anything more than he already has in his lifetime. Okay, so that means it can’t be serious. It wouldn’t happen to him again, would it? That would be so unfair. It must mean that I’m going to be fine.
But then maybe not. Maybe we won’t meet so he doesn’t have to be sad again. Maybe this is a divine plan for him to realize he can love once more. And I’m okay with that. I want him to be happy. I really want him to enjoy his life. Maybe this is what love is all about. Maybe I finally figured it out.
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