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It’s not that I want her.
It’s the scar tissue. I don’t know how to heal it. I don’t know if it’s possible to heal it.
Am I going to walk around struggling to trust people for the rest of my life?
Wondering if I’ll ever be enough for a woman?
Looking for evidence in every sigh or frown?
I find an empty spot on the curb a block away. Watch Leighton turn on the charm as she orders and pays.
She’s magnetic. Nobody can resist her smile. Or her laugh. Or the way she curls her hair around her finger in that I’m thinking about you naked way.
She steps aside. Joins the dozen people waiting in front of a closed furniture shop.
Her hips sway as she shifts her weight between her heels. Her nervous gestures stay the same. She keeps tapping her nails against her thighs. She keeps avoiding my gaze.
A short guy picks up his order. Drowns a burrito in red salsa.
A tall guy squeezes lime on his tacos.
A curvy woman adorns an enchilada plate with cilantro.
Leighton turns to me. Her eyes meet mine. They’re still asking for something. And I still don’t know what it is.
We stare like that forever.
Until the happy couple steps in front of her to grab their takeout order. They laugh like they’re the first people to discover love.
I want to hate them, but I can’t. I remember that feeling. I don’t miss Penny, but I miss the intoxication. I miss being able to let my guard down. Being able to love someone without wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop.
Leighton knows my head is a mess.
But that’s different than living in it.
I need to explain this to her. Or convince her it doesn’t matter.
But it does.
And I don’t know when I’ll feel normal.
If I’ll ever feel normal.
She taps her heels together as the guy calls her name. Her eyes fix on me. She motions come here.
That defeats the purpose of us splitting up, but I do it anyway.
The taco truck casts yellow light over the beige pavement. It turns her purple hair pink. Bounces off her white tank-top.
A million things flit through my head. Come back to my place. Spend the night in my bed. Let’s replace that ugly memory.
But I can’t ask that.
’Cause I can’t offer it. Not yet.
She turns to the window. Smiles as the woman in the truck hands her two plates of tacos.
I take the bottles of water.
