Maybe one day we’ll meet again, but if we don’t, know that I will always be waiting for you in that place between sleep and lucidity where dreams come alive. That’s where our love will always exist.
Don’t look for me, please. Move on. Live. Love again.
Yours always and forever.
Blaire.
Something falls out, catching my attention. Bending down, I pick up Blaire’s paper ring. I grip it tight in my fist as I sit down on the bed and will myself to feel something. Anything. But there’s nothing left inside me.
It is all gone.
Blaire
Two months after…
NUMB.
How can I go on?
Will I ever be able to?
Blaire
Six months after …
THERE’S A FOG THAT HAS settled around me. Grief holds me back and I can’t break past it. I panic. I breathe in and exhale. Tell myself that it will get better. It must. So I keep walking, with my arms outstretched, hoping to eventually find my way.
Blaire
A few years later …
“HOW ARE YOU DOING?” my mom asks on the phone. “Are you excited?”
I throw the rest of my breakfast away and wipe the counter of my small kitchen clean. Gripping my cell tighter, I smile. “You have no idea. I can’t believe that I’m going to Paris in a few days.”
“Don’t forget to buy a nice gift for Joanna and Jacob, honey.”
“Already got it, Mom. And I also called them yesterday to thank them for giving me the job.”
A couple years ago, heartbroken and unsure of what to do with my life, I went back home and spent the rest of the winter and spring with my mom. It wasn’t easy at first, but every single argument was worth it in the end. Together we found forgiveness and eventually love.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I came to the realization that somehow, unbeknownst to me, a part of my core had changed. My mom had told me that if I wanted change, it had to start from within, and she was right.
I couldn’t go back to sleeping with men for money. The thought alone made me sick. There was a time when I could have given my body to a man who I didn’t love. He would finish, I would go home, sore between the legs, numb, my pride in shreds and with a bank account full of money. I wasn’t happy. However, I was safe. But how could I go back after everything that I had shared with Ronan and when every part of me still belonged to him? It was unthinkable.
Change doesn’t happen overnight. But the hunger, the thirst to make something of myself bloomed like a flower in early spring. And suddenly the barren landscape that my life morphed into wasn’t so barren anymore. That’s when I decided to go back to New York City, enroll in school, and get my art degree.
It hasn’t been easy. Far from it. But for once in my life I can say that I’m proud of myself. Learning to forgive and love myself came later … and that took a lot more work than I expected. It’s no easy feat to let go of a lifetime full of hang-ups. It’s a daily battle.
“Are you sure that Elly’s husband won’t mind you staying in their apartment while you work there?” my mom asks, concern embedded in her voice.
I pick up my bag and keys, locking the door behind me. “Nope. Alessandro is the sweetest man. He told me that his parents own another apartment that they can always stay at. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m hoping to save enough money working at Joanna and Jacob’s art gallery to be able to afford my own place.”
“Well, that’s good.”
We chat some more about what my plans are for the rest of my belongings that I can’t bring with me to Paris, and the cute barista who took me out on a third date the other night. When she asks me if he spent the night over at my apartment, I decide to quickly end the conversation. We’ve grown extremely close, but I’m definitely not going there with my mom. Besides, how could I explain to her that yes, he did come back and it felt lovely to be touched again, to be wanted, to be kissed. But the moment I tried to be physically intimate with a man for the first time in years, I panicked and broke down in tears. Poor Phoenix—cute barista, actually, mega-hot barista, who happens to make a killer latte—just held me in his arms, rocking a massive and very painful erection while I cried.
Don’t look for me, please. Move on. Live. Love again.
Yours always and forever.
Blaire.
Something falls out, catching my attention. Bending down, I pick up Blaire’s paper ring. I grip it tight in my fist as I sit down on the bed and will myself to feel something. Anything. But there’s nothing left inside me.
It is all gone.
Blaire
Two months after…
NUMB.
How can I go on?
Will I ever be able to?
Blaire
Six months after …
THERE’S A FOG THAT HAS settled around me. Grief holds me back and I can’t break past it. I panic. I breathe in and exhale. Tell myself that it will get better. It must. So I keep walking, with my arms outstretched, hoping to eventually find my way.
Blaire
A few years later …
“HOW ARE YOU DOING?” my mom asks on the phone. “Are you excited?”
I throw the rest of my breakfast away and wipe the counter of my small kitchen clean. Gripping my cell tighter, I smile. “You have no idea. I can’t believe that I’m going to Paris in a few days.”
“Don’t forget to buy a nice gift for Joanna and Jacob, honey.”
“Already got it, Mom. And I also called them yesterday to thank them for giving me the job.”
A couple years ago, heartbroken and unsure of what to do with my life, I went back home and spent the rest of the winter and spring with my mom. It wasn’t easy at first, but every single argument was worth it in the end. Together we found forgiveness and eventually love.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I came to the realization that somehow, unbeknownst to me, a part of my core had changed. My mom had told me that if I wanted change, it had to start from within, and she was right.
I couldn’t go back to sleeping with men for money. The thought alone made me sick. There was a time when I could have given my body to a man who I didn’t love. He would finish, I would go home, sore between the legs, numb, my pride in shreds and with a bank account full of money. I wasn’t happy. However, I was safe. But how could I go back after everything that I had shared with Ronan and when every part of me still belonged to him? It was unthinkable.
Change doesn’t happen overnight. But the hunger, the thirst to make something of myself bloomed like a flower in early spring. And suddenly the barren landscape that my life morphed into wasn’t so barren anymore. That’s when I decided to go back to New York City, enroll in school, and get my art degree.
It hasn’t been easy. Far from it. But for once in my life I can say that I’m proud of myself. Learning to forgive and love myself came later … and that took a lot more work than I expected. It’s no easy feat to let go of a lifetime full of hang-ups. It’s a daily battle.
“Are you sure that Elly’s husband won’t mind you staying in their apartment while you work there?” my mom asks, concern embedded in her voice.
I pick up my bag and keys, locking the door behind me. “Nope. Alessandro is the sweetest man. He told me that his parents own another apartment that they can always stay at. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m hoping to save enough money working at Joanna and Jacob’s art gallery to be able to afford my own place.”
“Well, that’s good.”
We chat some more about what my plans are for the rest of my belongings that I can’t bring with me to Paris, and the cute barista who took me out on a third date the other night. When she asks me if he spent the night over at my apartment, I decide to quickly end the conversation. We’ve grown extremely close, but I’m definitely not going there with my mom. Besides, how could I explain to her that yes, he did come back and it felt lovely to be touched again, to be wanted, to be kissed. But the moment I tried to be physically intimate with a man for the first time in years, I panicked and broke down in tears. Poor Phoenix—cute barista, actually, mega-hot barista, who happens to make a killer latte—just held me in his arms, rocking a massive and very painful erection while I cried.
