The Aftermath of Love and a Bad Decision

Not sure what you call this other than a way of trying to find some solace within the written word.

We live in a bungalow off some island in Indonesia, where the water is warm, the beaches are bright, and my love for you is endless.

You run a dive shop, where you rent out snorkels and give surf lessons. 

I work at the bar just up the beach. 

We are tan and carefree. 

We talk about absolutely nothing of consequence and every night is the same. 

We make dinner, we lounge on the couch watching reruns, and we f**k like we’re not promised tomorrow. 

We are completely each others. 

But this is only a reality in my mind.

We will never have this. 

We got stolen moments; the moments when she wasn’t around. 

Hushed kisses and time shared behind closed doors. 

We had nothing more than empty promises and terrible timing. 

I hate what we started. 

I hate myself for being a part of it, and I hate you for allowing me to be. 

Still, years later, I ache with guilt. 

Why can’t I let you go? 

We won’t find the romance I was groomed to think we were guaranteed. 

It seems we were fated for nothing more than malevolence. 

We won’t get our happily ever after. 

So after this bottle of wine and a Xanax I’ll go find that beach, where I have Mai Tai in hand and you by my side.