Don’t be annoyed when that Toronto sun wakes you up through the blinds that aren’t blackout.
Actually, be thankful that you don’t have those blackout blinds that you had in Rome because you’d get out of bed at like, 1 pm every day. And we have too many people to see, and too many places to be.
Never underestimate the power of a good eyelash curler. You can actually achieve a lot with a good mascara and a curled lash.
There’s something magical about October. The leaves change, the air changes, and our wardrobes change, too. It’s like the universe is saying: “Hi. You don’t have to stay stuck anymore.”
555 is everywhere. The angel number of change.
Find your favourite area and move near it. Walk to it and through it every day. Smile at the shop owners. Be thankful and grateful when everyone compliments your manicure. Which leads me to my next point:
Get a really good manicure. Like, I’m talking a Russian manicure. And pick out a colour that you’d normally wouldn’t. I’ve always believed our nails attract a certain energy. The red nail theory is real. And sometimes, male attention is annoying. But what about a lavender? Or a forest green? What’s going to look aesthetic in photos? Think about that.
Write down all of the reasons why he is still in love with you and can’t seem to let you go after 7 years.
Write down all of the reasons why it didn’t work out in the first place.
Inconsistent. Unstable. Unpredictable.
Admit to everyone on your close friends list that maybe - you’re still a little bit in love with him and maybe - you’ll probably forever be a little bit in love with him.
The problem is, and the problem always is - you see a soul in there.
Shed a few tears when you think about how he sat across from you a week ago, and how he pointed to his chest and said he still felt something “in here that I can’t describe” when you walked through the door.
Be thankful when he tells you that you look the same as when he first met you, which was when you were 24. Meaning you’ve barely aged in 7 years.
Thank you, 3 litres of water. Thank you, face masks. Thank you, hyaluronic acid.
Be thankful, when you both get more drunk, and he admits that he had to stop reading your newsletters after he figured out you were sleeping with 2 guys who worked at the same bar. Correct him and tell him “It was actually five. And it was over the span of three years.” Lol. He has so much to catch up on.
Order another dirty martini and be reminded that no one makes you laugh, quite like he does.
Change the conversation when he brings up reasons as to why you two never worked out in the first place. You’ve heard it all before. The drunk admittance to self-sabotaging, then the inevitable “but you moved to a different continent.” He brings up a fair point, but you don’t want to hear his excuse of 2024, and be reminded that this night, just like all of the others, will come to an end.
Think, for a few moments, what you could say to make him change his mind. That you’ll stay in Toronto? That you’ll give up everything that you always wanted, everything that you built? That community, that piazza, that tower in the centre of the parking lot.
The dirty martinis remind you that you are, contrary to popular belief, looking for stability. For something, for someone, to sink into.
“I’ve never had to worry that you would just settle.” He tells you.
Let him kiss you at the table. You hate PDA, but with him, you never minded it.
Be annoyed when you’re reminded that he’s a good kisser. Ugh.
But smile when he tells you, “I forgot you’re a good kisser.”
When he tells you that he’s going to write about you for a change, hold on to the belief that he will. Maybe he won’t, but let yourself believe that he will.
Wonder if the point of all of this pain of the “almosts” is to write about it.
Question the universe at the unfairness of it all.
Because it always seems to be a lot easier for other people.
Stop by his apartment to pick up another bottle of wine. He holds your hand as you walk back to your place, across the bridge, across that city skyline. He turns to you in a drunken huff and says, “And I understand, Emily. I understand how it was five guys at the same bar. Because men just fall for you. And I understand how it feels.”
Be taken aback by his vulnerability. Avoid telling him you only really cared for one, maybe two out of the five.
Avoid telling him that actually, you were never really sure what you meant to them. And you’re still not sure what you mean to anyone, really.
Don’t mention the tears on your cheek after you two hook up. But to your surprise, they’re not yours.
Look into his eyes and tell him, “I really care about you.” Because you really do. You’re really drunk, and you really do.
You really wish you didn’t, though.
Let yourself sink into his arms after. Close your eyes and let him tuck your hair behind your ears, and let him kiss you on your forehead a million times.
Let him tell you that he cares about you, too.
Nod when he repeats himself and asks, “Did you hear what I said?”
Be reminded that it won’t last. The “I’ll see you around the neighbourhood” - the next morning, stings.
You wonder if he really cares, or if it’s all just another game to play.
Try to ignore the feeling of having something being taken from you.
What is it exactly? Hope? The promise of something else? You can’t put your finger on it. But you’re routined enough in this situation to know that there’s something that you’re willingly giving up too, so you can’t blame the other party entirely.
Look in the mirror and wonder if there’s something wrong with you. Maybe PN was right. And you are, in fact, crazy.
Avoid looking at your phone. Because you are also routined enough in this situation to know there is a chance that he won’t message you.
You seriously wonder if the problem is you. And you think back to the Man at the Front, and your own father who told you to, “take off the rose coloured glasses once in a while.”
What really is love? Is it memories? Is it knowing the darkest parts of someone, but still accepting them anyways? Is it the amount of tears we’ve shed? Does how much we suffer equal to how much we love?
Realize everything you’ve written over the past 2 years is now starting to click. To sink in. To make sense.
The more you run from your feelings, the more they demand to be felt.
All you ever wanted was to know was that you meant something to him. To any of them. But I think, after that night, we finally have an answer.
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My favorite ever of yours immediately
“Did you hear what I said?”
Be reminded that it won’t last.”
THIS ABSOLUTELY GUT ME AHAHSHDJ