I've been living in town over a year now and despite its benefits, I've found it's like high school at best and Hell at worst. And presently, it is Hell. At first, it was a needed change for me—new experiences, new friends and new love. But those new experiences quickly got old, most friends proved to be acquaintances (on a good day) and love, well, I've learned that it's fleeting.
I am once again spending my nights alone fighting with my guitar and wrestling my thoughts. The adjustment from two to one is always awkwardly familiar, like a friend you haven't seen in years and don't exactly remember where you've left off. The friendly encouragements of, "You will find someone, just wait and see," only make me wonder if maybe I'm just supposed to be alone. Maybe I am the one that doesn't find someone and dotes on my friends kids forever—crazy Aunt Jen.
As I lay down in the center of my now very empty king-sized bed, I can't help but reflect on how much of it all is my fault. Most nights I land near 50 percent, which I suppose is fair. But I wonder if I've learned anything worthwhile. I know that I trust people less, which I didn't think was possible, and that I should stay at an arm's length, where it's safer.
But I miss his laughter and I miss his warmth. All of the apologies in the world don't matter as I close my eyes and fall into another unsettled sleep. But I will wake up, and I will try again.