Status: drabble || complete
I'm Sorry I Wasn't What You Wanted
I'm Everything I Need
Picture me: hopeful, youthful, staring wide-eyed into a future of absolute uncertainty with no set plan.
Picture you: brooding and cynical, with a stiff composure and untrusting heart, hardly daring to look to the stars.
You’re studying accounting -- my father says it’s the safe option, there’s always a need for an accountant -- and hating every second of it, yet loving the stability it will give you. I’m flitting from job to job, disliking this, and disliking that, my resume goes from hand to hand to hand, my phone ringing with new opportunities.
“I’m going overseas.”
“You’re what?”
I place the job application -- au pair in Spain -- on your desk. I can already picture it: a day off from working with the kids, I’m down at a beach, a few local friends with me. I’m drinking a sangria, beach towel wrapped around my waist and a bright blue bikini complementing the bronzed tan I have. Visiting the museums, seeing the art galleries, soaking in the heat and sun to my heart’s content.
“No, you’re not going.”
“I’m what?”
I’m on a plane, thirty four thousand feet in the air, the boarding pass in my hand reading BARCELONA —> BCN. You’re not even in my phone contacts anymore, and all traces of you on my social media have vanished: you can’t hold me down.
Picture you: stressing, pulling your hair out, going prematurely grey as you try and crunch the numbers during a particularly difficult client’s tax consultation.
Picture me: loving, feeling, experiencing, everything you can’t -- and don’t wish to -- offer me.
Picture you: brooding and cynical, with a stiff composure and untrusting heart, hardly daring to look to the stars.
You’re studying accounting -- my father says it’s the safe option, there’s always a need for an accountant -- and hating every second of it, yet loving the stability it will give you. I’m flitting from job to job, disliking this, and disliking that, my resume goes from hand to hand to hand, my phone ringing with new opportunities.
“I’m going overseas.”
“You’re what?”
I place the job application -- au pair in Spain -- on your desk. I can already picture it: a day off from working with the kids, I’m down at a beach, a few local friends with me. I’m drinking a sangria, beach towel wrapped around my waist and a bright blue bikini complementing the bronzed tan I have. Visiting the museums, seeing the art galleries, soaking in the heat and sun to my heart’s content.
“No, you’re not going.”
“I’m what?”
- - -
I’m on a plane, thirty four thousand feet in the air, the boarding pass in my hand reading BARCELONA —> BCN. You’re not even in my phone contacts anymore, and all traces of you on my social media have vanished: you can’t hold me down.
Picture you: stressing, pulling your hair out, going prematurely grey as you try and crunch the numbers during a particularly difficult client’s tax consultation.
Picture me: loving, feeling, experiencing, everything you can’t -- and don’t wish to -- offer me.