My Life

Hard to Find, even harder to forget

I surfed for a bit and caught a few really good rides this afternoon. Then I laid in the sand and wrote my heart out.

“You’re my dream girl. You’re my everything. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.”

My fingers trembled as I traced my fingertips along the ink. Shaking under the weight of what those words still mean to my heart.

How can men say shit like that, when in the end it means nothing?

There is this deep part of my gut that knows…

I am his dream girl and I always will be. I’m fucking amazing. I’m intelligent, beautiful, charismatic, sarcastic, and hilarious. I’m one in a million.

I know deep in my gut that every night he falls asleep trying to forget me, but he can’t. That my curves star in every single one of his fantasies. My smile invades his dreams. That he aches for the way I used to make him laugh and how we kept challenging each other mentally. Our relationship was so… safe. It was like this corner of the world where we both were fully accepted for who we were.

By the time he figures out that no one can ever replace me and the longing for me will never go away, I’ll be gone.

That I’ll forever live on as his Main Regret, because not only am I hard to find, I’m even harder to forget.

About Monica

Living in Newport Beach and Kauai. Survivor of crippling Anxiety and Depression. When I'm not cuddling my adorable dachshund puppy, surfing, or reading, you'll find me on here writing about my love life, loss, and everything in between.

0 comments on “Hard to Find, even harder to forget

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: