I’ve been hiding. Intentionally hiding because I am quite tired. Tired of this narrative of former lovers being brought up over drinks, over loud music in bars, in conversation at dinners, in group messages about everything but those men. Yet, here we are. Winter is thawing and spring is so close, yet I find myself in the familiar space of sitting with cups of coffee past their prime wondering when the slow ache will fade. The end of winter and the start of a new season of emotional unavailability.
Mercury retrograde starts soon and it reminds me of last March. Last March when I met a person and was positive that God was playing a trick on me because there was no way he was real. This March when that person is gone. When I’m back to entertaining myself with men who just don’t quite hold a candle to him. When I’m replaying all the months of light and dark, confusion and understanding, peace and toxicity. When I’m convinced God played a joke on me. When I’m absolutely tired of writing about former lovers and the lost time spent in coffee shops trying to understand what the hell I’m doing. We’re back to spring and I’m back to such a confusing place.
I have no idea what this next season will hold. None of us can predict how our hearts will shift and bend to the situations it encounters. I have a friend who consistently tells me that I need to manifest more, to speak better things into existence if I truly want a love that is mine. I usually ignore him because in the same breath he’s fake shooting his shot and the jokes keep us from actually allowing me to sit with that advice. So this spring, I hope to sit with it. To sit with warm cups of coffee. With people, and if it’s right, men, who don’t leave me confused and empty. To sit with my hopes and fears and create a space for my hopes to shine. Here’s to March and the old lovers who became lessons (re)learned.