My BFF since first grade often reminds me that I am not good with matters of the heart.
She knows me so well.
We are both convinced matters of the heart might kill me.
I have an extensive track record of falling in and out of love.
In seventh grade there was an Italian boy that I loved. My BFF and I changed the names in songs to his name and I practiced writing my name with his. Let’s say Anne Marie with an Italian last name is angelic. I hope he’s fat and bald now. Serves him right for not knowing I secretly loved him.
The one that may have gotten away was my college boyfriend. He said he was breaking up with me so I could find someone better. I threw a shoe at his head. We found out later we are fifth cousins from the same county in Ireland. It never would have worked out but my heart was broken nonetheless.
There’s a movie moment in Grand Central Station with him.
We had graduated college and were both working in New York City. We passed each other and had a short verbal exchange. It wasn’t about what was said but the looks we gave each other. I can still see him looking at me over his shoulder with his green eyes and deliciously long eyelashes. That’s a sign of something…right?
The first one I really loved – like in my soul loved — was nine years older and in a band. He was artistic and had long black hair. On our first date he held my hand across the table and told the waitress we were on our first date. She didn’t believe him. We drank coffee, smoked cigarettes and waxed philosophical.
He broke my heart. I should have known it was doomed to fail. We are both Geminis.
I spent ten years with someone who had potential. He is still searching for his place in the world. There are no hard feelings. We’re friends. I should have ended it sooner but I hate breaking hearts as much as I hate having my heart broken.
My friend since seventh grade tells me to be patient and take my time. This is the pot calling the kettle black.
The more I considered being patient the more I realized she might be on to something. Taking my time could mean the heart break doesn’t happen until later…or not at all. It could well be the turning point from dating doofuses to dating nice guys.
Either way, matters of the heart might kill me.
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