This last trip to the beach was the first trip without the ex. First he was out of my bedroom, then he was out of my bank account, and now his is out of my vacations. As I wrestled with a bottle of Coppertone, I realized that I had no one to help me put it on my back. Reluctant to give up and even ask, I wrestled my arms around and applied as much as I could and hoped for the best. The best is a very red outline of a navy blue with white polka dots bikini. A new low to being alone.
Part of me is accepts that this is just another aspect to being single. I lathered myself in aloe as soon as I arrived home yesterday, still unable to hit the terribly burnt sections. The other, needier part cried. I cried because I was so disappointed that I just couldn’t reach all of the necessary places; I cried because the sun is never going to relent; I cried because I wonder what will happen the next time I need to use sunblock.
It is all a part of the healing process, my girlfriend said. And she’s right. I know she’s right. I am just a bit sad about all I lost.
The Wandering Empath 