Monday Marks Week 2 Without D

Life without D. Is sometimes with laughter, is sometimes with bad dinners and weird lunches, with requests made to friends not to tell other friends about the changes in my relationship status. Is full of reading and thinking about the assignment due at 11:59 PST on Sunday night, Superbowl Sunday. Is thinking about if the Baltimore Ravens will win the Superbowl thus crushing my father's dreams about living to see the San Francisco 49ers rise victoriously like they did when he worshiped Jerry Rice and Joe Montana. Is full of a deep longing, sometimes unheard, but inherently there. I cried in one sitting today after my second and last class of the day, cried myself into my nap and then out of it. I worked out and ate a dinner that was enough to keep me full but unsatisfactory.

I realize I need to get my eyes checked because my left contact is very blurry and unfocused. Annoying annoying annoying.

This is life without D. But he's not gone from my heart, my head and my hopes. I mean I did not cry when talking about him today, but I wish he'd call. Or text. Or magically reappear.

I just wish. I just hope. However dangerous that might be. It's the beginning of the second week without him. Friday marks the date exactly.

I am scared he's forgetting about me. I'm scared he's regretting me. I'm scared he's with somebody else. I'm scared he'll never realize the strength that it takes to be different and to embrace it. I hope he gets wiser, gets stronger, gets braver. There is no such thing as "age before wisdom." A myth. Like perfection.

We studied and deconstructed and dissected Jennifer Lopez and Shakira today. I became sad because I am not "perfection" in accordance to Shakira's body standards.

But when I look in the mirror I do not recoil from what I used to feel was so monstrous looking back at me. My image is yes...Not Shakira or anything like what men find "hot." But I am pretty good. I have a good heart. I am a good catch.

I will love you. I will respect you. I have curves. I am soft. But I am so strong. I will run you over.

I miss him. I know I do. Even though I am scared that I don't. You don't fall out of love with someone in two weeks. You just don't. I don't. I just am...tired. I am drained. I am freaking out about a 1-2 page critical review due Sunday.

I am freaking out because when I sleep, I feel so alone. Before I sleep I am haunted by the images of the very near past, when I was wrapped up in arms and pressed and so incredibly happy and comfortable. And know that it's just me, my covers and the little stuffed animal that has been watching over me for 21 years.

And I don't know what he's thinking. Or where he is. Or if he feels the same way I do right before I succumb to dreams.