Choices

I wish my choices made a difference.

Every day I wake up and I check. I always feel mildly fuzzy at first, and then the sense of urgency begins. I check my phone and in that brief instance before I see the screen I feel hopeful. 

That damn word, that damn feeling. Hope. 

It burns away inside me, festering on, even though I know it will ultimately hurt me. 

I go about my day. I get ready for work, listen to music on the way over, and try not to think about him.

I sit at my desk and go through my assignments, listing out what has to be done first, and try not to think about him. 

I go out to get my lunch, something cheap, something fast. I have to be there to answer phones, and I try not to think about him.

I finish up and plan my evening ahead, and try not to think about him.

I meet my friends for trivia, for drinks, a movie, to talk, and I try not to think about him. 

I stumble home, tired but fulfilled, and I don't think about him. 

My life was fine before, and it is good now, and it will continue to be.

He always told me that loving me, coming back to me, it was a choice. He made that choice. 

And I should be happy to know that. I should take comfort in that. 

My choices are similar now. 

I chose to let him go. 

But I choose to continue to hope. 

It is my choice, even though I know it could be the wrong one.

Reviews

[N.]

This is an extellar piece. You did a wonderful job displaying what is going on in your mind and incorporating into today's modern world giving the reader something very relatable.