Posted in Blog, Nonfiction

Two Tickets

The toughest part of a break up is the loneliness that comes from having two of everything, but only being half of that now. The concerts and memories that were supposed to be are now just a pair of paper memorandums sitting on your dresser. 
You could sell them. And in doing so, give up the chance of ever going to the concert with the person you were supposed too. Not that is was likely they were going to change their minds and go anyway. 
But giving voice to the fact makes it permanent and unavoidable. You will never get to see that show with the person you really want too.
You could take somebody else. But in doing that forever marking any memories that you make there with grief and suffering. And finding somebody who is just a glaringly alone as you are is a task, and finding someone who will admit they don’t have any plans for that night or any night for that matter, is a struggle not worth the effort.
You could go alone. And give life to the fact that you feel alone no matter how many people are around you. 
And finally, and probably the most likely outcome, you can stay home. Stay home and look at the paper heart breaks laying on the dresser all night, in between crying spells and long hours wrapped in ball in bed while the sun is still out.
But I do have two tickets. I really only have one, and it belongs to one person. 
Would you go to this show with me?
I miss you.
I’m sorry.
Please come home.

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