Manifest Fantasy

A few years from now I’ll bump into you in a bar in a lonely city. I’ll be in love with the lights, and the buildings. You’ll have grown up a little bit, maybe you’ll be infatuated with someone that loves you back. Maybe you’ll be sleeping with girls without boyfriends. I’ll be emotionally stable for once, and it’ll still kill me. Because all I really want is for the both of us to be happy. In “happy” she said it best. We haven’t spoke in years. We grew apart because maybe we were never actually friends. Romanticizing the past, in love with every fight. I see the light, and it’s awfully dim.

I want to be in love with him. Any of them. The men I give my time. The ones who beg to be here, bide for me, the ones silly enough to think I believe a single lie slipping through their teeth. The naive ones without the capacity you had in one wink to capture me, and incapacitate my stubborn controlling nature. I control them. I ignore them. I text them just to keep them around. Give them the slightest inkling of hope, so that even though I’m alone I know I don’t have to be alone. They’re immature, so they don’t mind the abuse. It excites them. Small minded men sell themselves for sex; even just the thought of it. And, I don’t care. I don’t think twice about them. My capacity for empathy dwindles by the day, and the more I think about you and I the more thankful I am things didn’t stay the same. You made me one of them.

Feeble. Small. Weak.

I’ll be in Boston, New York, maybe Philly. I’ll glance to my right, and I’ll see you. The one that I’ll be with. The man I’ll fall for. The man who loves himself. He takes what he wants, and when he catches my gaze I won’t look away. I’ll just smile my half smile, and lift a few fingers for a little wave.


I’ll bump into you in a bar in the city of my dreams, I’m a writer, and the blog you thought was silly will have awards, and an app with a popular forum. I work with famous photographers, and have art in local museums. I finally gained the patience to grow my hair back out, and the confidence to wear just a little less makeup. I’ve worked with musicians globally. I’m a lyrical genius in the making. We’ll catch up using small talk like we did last week. I won’t remember how my passion was too much for us to keep in touch. I’ll forget how you chose to be without me completely than with me how I craved to be. And, maybe we’ll talk about him. The man I met in Boston. The man who’s all of the things for me that so long ago my gut pushed me to believe you could be. I’ll tell you about how we met, that man who not just loves me, but believes in me how I believed in you with every fiber of  my being. I’ll wish you the best, and give you a hug. You’ll kiss me on the head, turn away, and go. And, I won’t go to sleep reminiscing. I’ll go to sleep happy you’re happy, and we won’t cross my mind again.



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