Today was my first day off from work in far too long. My eyes slowly opened at 6 am. I stretched, smiled and went back to sleep. After another six hours of not-needed but much-earned rest, I got up, made a huge cup of coffee, and started studying. I was enjoying this quiet time, snuggled up in my favorite chair with my laptop; I almost felt something close to peace.
'Knock, knock'.
I'm expecting no visitors, and anyone who has known me for longer than a half an hour is aware that I am not a fan of "unexpected guests". Not at all.
But because of my new, peaceful mood, I wasn't bothered.
I open my door to find Kelly, my neighbor, holding a paper bag.
"Hey, Mujer, I was heading into the house last night and there was a guy walking back to his car from your door. He saw me and asked me to give this to you, 'cause he didn't want to leave it outside."
I start to get that hot, tingly feeling that usually proceeds a huge emotional spike. My chest tightens and my eyes burn as I reach for the bag. I already know who the "guy" was, just like I already know what's awaiting me within the paper sack.
He couldn't have.
Kelly is looking at me expectantly, but I offer no explanation as I take the bag. I'm not sure if I even thanked her before I shut the door. My only goal was to make sure the scalding hot tears that were threatening my eyes wouldn't start running down my cheeks before I was safely behind the door.
Oh, but he did.
Books. Clothes. CD's. Jewelry. Shampoo. Even a half empty bottle of body wash. All things that belonged to me. All things that had been left at my ex-boyfriend's house.
My chest finally loosened, in one long exhale that led to one giant sob, that led to a raging torrent of tears. My heart physically hurt, in a way that it hadn't in so long.
See, it wasn't that Ex had returned my belongings. It was when he had returned them. We had spoken a couple days earlier, and had decided that Monday night he would come by and we would make an exchange. He had left more things at my house than I had at his. I was secretly looking forward to this, I will admit. I wanted to see him one last time, maybe get some closure and begin to heal. I even various fantasies revolving through my head: he would come over to gather his belongings, see me, look deep into my eyes, realize what a mistake he was making, and want me back. Then I would snub him, or curse him...or just fall in to his arms. Stupid, I know.
But the point is, none of that was ever to be. He decided that he'd rather forfeit his own belongings than have to even look at me. How interesting: during the majority of our relationship, I asked, pleaded, demanded that he show me some sort of feeling, emotion, anything that would let me know just how he felt, if he cared, whether he really wanted me...
(Mujeres, be smarter than I: if you have to do any or all of the above to find out if your man cares about you, it ain't worth it.)
...and so he did. He finally showed me.
I guess actions truly do speak louder than words.
'Knock, knock'.
I'm expecting no visitors, and anyone who has known me for longer than a half an hour is aware that I am not a fan of "unexpected guests". Not at all.
But because of my new, peaceful mood, I wasn't bothered.
I open my door to find Kelly, my neighbor, holding a paper bag.
"Hey, Mujer, I was heading into the house last night and there was a guy walking back to his car from your door. He saw me and asked me to give this to you, 'cause he didn't want to leave it outside."
I start to get that hot, tingly feeling that usually proceeds a huge emotional spike. My chest tightens and my eyes burn as I reach for the bag. I already know who the "guy" was, just like I already know what's awaiting me within the paper sack.
He couldn't have.
Kelly is looking at me expectantly, but I offer no explanation as I take the bag. I'm not sure if I even thanked her before I shut the door. My only goal was to make sure the scalding hot tears that were threatening my eyes wouldn't start running down my cheeks before I was safely behind the door.
Oh, but he did.
Books. Clothes. CD's. Jewelry. Shampoo. Even a half empty bottle of body wash. All things that belonged to me. All things that had been left at my ex-boyfriend's house.
My chest finally loosened, in one long exhale that led to one giant sob, that led to a raging torrent of tears. My heart physically hurt, in a way that it hadn't in so long.
See, it wasn't that Ex had returned my belongings. It was when he had returned them. We had spoken a couple days earlier, and had decided that Monday night he would come by and we would make an exchange. He had left more things at my house than I had at his. I was secretly looking forward to this, I will admit. I wanted to see him one last time, maybe get some closure and begin to heal. I even various fantasies revolving through my head: he would come over to gather his belongings, see me, look deep into my eyes, realize what a mistake he was making, and want me back. Then I would snub him, or curse him...or just fall in to his arms. Stupid, I know.
But the point is, none of that was ever to be. He decided that he'd rather forfeit his own belongings than have to even look at me. How interesting: during the majority of our relationship, I asked, pleaded, demanded that he show me some sort of feeling, emotion, anything that would let me know just how he felt, if he cared, whether he really wanted me...
(Mujeres, be smarter than I: if you have to do any or all of the above to find out if your man cares about you, it ain't worth it.)
...and so he did. He finally showed me.
I guess actions truly do speak louder than words.
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