mofongo with shrimp

vieques


I listened to a lot of podcasts while I was gone and ate shrimp mofongo and bought earrings from local designers. I ate a lot of pizza and one poorly seasoned fish sandwich and met a smiling dog right there in the bar who I think, no lie, was sent by the universe to make me feel better.

I stepped in horse shit a couple times and had beaches all to myself and stared out at the endless water and thought again of how small and insignificant I really am, all things considered. The biobay tour guide told us that there are only six of these bays still on earth and that the oceans are throwing up all the plastic and trash we’ve been tossing into them over the past few decades. Reminded me that the planet will definitely get rid of us before we are able to get rid of her. And then thought about the current state of humanity and decided that probably wouldn’t be so bad.

I missed him so much. Every time someone said “table for one?” or “just one today?” I felt his absence all over again. Thought about how much he’d have loved the water and taking pictures of me and being tipsy all day.

Then thought about how we almost certainly would have ended up arguing and angry. Remembered that God knows what she is doing in my life.

Fuck, I miss him though. I am so tired of crying.

I’m angry because he broke my trust in the deepest way and I’m angry because I let him that close to me. I’m angry because I let him into my life and now I miss being held. I miss being touched. I miss being actively loved. I feel lonely sometimes and I’m sad because of those things. I don’t want to talk about it.

I hate that I have to build a rind around my soft human parts. Again. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how often I think about his eyes and the tender way he always told me he loves me. I hate that night and that it happened. I hate that I ever took his number in the first place. I hate that I miss our routine and I hate that I let him spend so much time in my space. I hate that I miss game nights and date nights and “let’s just be washed” nights. I hate that I miss doing the laundry with him because he doesn’t mind folding. I hate that I miss hearing his key turn in the lock. I hate that I was vulnerable with someone who violated that. I hate that I still care and I really hate fucking crying.