Unrequited
From a collection of poems titled Sad Girl Hours

Unrequited
Four syllables, defined by Merriam Webster as not reciprocated or returned in kind. Harsh, stinging, like a cigarette stubbed out on skin. Dramatic, but nonetheless real and painful.
There’s this guy. Let us refer to him as Jon.
He is infuriating, and smart, quick, funny, kind, considerate, scathing and unyielding simultaneously.
I have never met anyone like him, and because of that I wish I’d never met him at all. Jon, is, an unforeseen nail in the road I must maneuver around. But I chose to slowly roll over it, instead of swerving to avoid it. I hoped that as the tires of my vehicle moved over the sharp, yet disarming metal I would be able to coast across it unharmed.
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss……goes the air as it whistles out of the tire, punctured, damaged, in need of a repair.
I don’t remember meeting Jon, he was just suddenly there, the nail that was in the road and is now lodged into the rubber of my wheels. The metal clacks against the asphalt as the tire rotates and the nail slaps down onto the concrete almost rhythmically.
Less sadly metaphorical, Jon surprised me, in an alarming fashion.
You see, I purposefully closed myself off, to avoid the inevitable, crushing weight of my own anxieties telling me, before he ever could, that I would never be good enough, chosen first. It’s a vicious thing, anxiety. Especially as it whispers doubts and faults into the inner ear.
Ssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……goes the bully anxiety that tells you, you were an idiot to even think there was the possibility of something more than camaraderie.
Hahaha, goes the sharp tack of a voice in your head, reminding you that in the years you have lived, no one you ever wanted has wanted you back. And that you should just cut your losses and stop trying.
But that’s just it.
I wasn’t trying. And somehow, not that he had to try that hard, or try at all, Jon still weaseled his way under my skin, but barely touched me. He was nobody and then he was definitely somebody. Somebody I looked forward to seeing, somebody I enjoyed talking to. Somebody whose eyes I liked being watched by.
I want to tear my hair out because this wasn’t on purpose. This wasn’t at all the plan. I’m so tired of being at the merciless beck and call of my wayward and fickle emotions. I feel like the sum total of my losses. I am tired of looking at myself through the eyes of others. I want to know within myself that I am worthy of all the good things I want.
So I tell myself, over and over again that Jon is but a nail in the road, on my path to somewhere else. A nail in the road that I ran over. A nail in the road that tore into my tire. A nail in the road that gave me a flat. A nail in the road that in turn became a setback, a nail in the road that-
Just a nail in the road of my life that stretches on in front of me as far as my brown eyes can see. There will be other nails, other flat tires, other setbacks on the way to my ultimate destination, a destination that lies somewhere I can not currently see, far beyond the horizon, but undoubtedly, there, waiting for me.
Just a nail in the road.


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