I rub the sleep out of my eyes. Dried tears and now streaky mascara come off too. The beautiful dream that had left a warm feeling was now gone, replaced by cold empty feelings. And of course more desire. Not just for him, but for punishment and a nice bottle or two off the highest shelf. I sit there next to the stranger in my bed and wonder how I got here. Was it because he left me? Because he lied? Or was it because I let myself hurt and get so attached? Definitely the last one. It's always my fault. I grab a sticky note for the stranger whose name I've already forgotten and write something about having to run errands and that he can leave. No commitment right? Right. I walk down to the liquor store and grab a few nicely sized bottles for tonight. I go home. I clean up the clothes and straighten the bed sheets, courtesy of said stranger. 

I cant stop thinking of those days. The ones in the dream. We were young, but it definitely wasn't puppy love. It was strong and serious, devoted and passionate. It was three years of pain and love and dedication and we threw it all away. All my fault. I miss him so much. I walk down to the coffee shop we loved and buy a salted caramel macchiato, his favorite. As I look up from the counter I meet the eyes of a different stranger, a beautifully handsome one. His cup had Adrian scribbled on it. As we stared into each others' eyes, I knew in my bones there was something, a spark per say. And I knew he would change me. I had a gut feeling we would meet again so I grabbed my coffee and with a smile and wink to him, walked out of the shop. And for the first time in four years, I didn't think of him. 

(part 1 on antisociallyaesthetic.blogspot.com...part 3 coming soon)