Love At First Thursday

October 21st, 2021.

It was Thursday. The day before Friday. Friday was a good day for a wedding. Cheaper. Longer weekend. A step-sister to Saturday. Almost all the perks.

Cheaper.

I almost cancelled. When we picked that date a week prior, I wasn’t thinking about Friday. I had gotten pretty good at steamrolling through the obvious triggers. If you move fast enough, you forget how great a Friday is for a wedding.

Specifically, your own.

He looked different in almost every picture.

He was funny.

I was lonely.

We picked Thursday.

I spent the day cycling through fragmented bursts of sobs and emotionally charged, non-sensical rants.

Because tomorrow was Friday.

And Friday was a good day for a wedding.

I’m a hot person.

big tits

skinny waist

NiCe As$

I’m funny as hell.

*farts*

If you’ve already shut your computer in disgust at my apparent arrogance, that’s chill. But the rest of you should know that despite these WILDLY unique and positive aforementioned attributes, I have a pretty bad habit of

🌈absolutely

fucking🌈

🌈hating

myself 🌈

I have a keen understanding of all the qualities that make me appealing to a male.

Yet, my understanding of my hotness and charm is just that.

An understanding.

This understanding has always come from the perspective of an outsider.

An onlooker.

Sometimes I softly smile at my red lips and curves as they reveal themselves on the surfaces of shiny buildings and car windows passing by.

It is a hollow understanding, because it is one I rarely have the capacity to feel.

Knowing you are beautiful is very different than believing it.

On this Thursday, I was 30 years old with less than $50 to my name.

I was living in New Orleans and I didn’t know why.

I was drinking half a bottle of tequila every night just so I could fall asleep.

I hadn’t felt real joy in 2 years.

But hey

big tits

skinny waist

NiCe As$

I knew what I had to do to make this night livable.

I was a master at first dates.

Any and all “awkward moment” maintenance tended to fall squarely on my shoulders.

Self-deprecation was my specialty.

I majored in it at theatre school.

The place was called Bud Rips. We were to meet there at 7:45.

I was 40 minutes late.

Because tomorrow was Friday.

And Friday was a good day for a wedding.

I walked into the bar like the Terminator and scanned the room, immediately locating my target.

My eyes took him in as nothing more than a shape.

Steamrolling.

I apologized profusely for being so late.

He smiled.

He never stopped smiling.

I’ll never forget the inhale I took before returning to our table. I have never taken a breath so jam-packed with pain.

Oxygen filled my lungs with the ghost of one exhausted sentence,

“Let’s get this over with.”

Ah

I have officially arrived at the hardest part of the poem.

Is this a poem?

I do not know how to write this.

The words needed to properly take you through this experience haven’t been invented yet.

When I gazed into his eyes I could physically feel my body thawing.

My skin was warm.

no

Hot.

My smile was just my smile.

I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t had to slap it on.

One thousand balloons were tied to my arms

My legs

My pigtails

My waist

My butt bounced up and down on the seat as it desperately fought gravity.

I was a feather

I was a schoolgirl

I didn’t exist

I only existed

I was with him

He was with me

There was no going back that Thursday.

We just were.

“Can I tell you something?”

He slowly nodded

His eyes smiled

Our arms were entangled in a lovers death grip.

We had met 90 minutes prior.

“I was supposed to get married tomorrow.”

His eyes didn’t stop smiling.

“I hope you don’t.”

An eruption of firecrackers went off in my ears as he brought his lips to mine.

I morphed into an inflatable tube man

The ones outside of car dealerships?

Shut up

I told you this part was hard

There was never a moment I questioned if this was my partner.

He just was.

I couldn’t stop staring at his face.

It was unlike any face I had ever seen.

Because it was his.

Tomorrow was Friday.

Friday was a good day for someone else’s wedding.