Day 1 of a Long Weekend

I didn't know what to do with myself. I walked through crowded city streets. Red lights everywhere told me to stop what I was doing. Go home. To what? Later, with a bowl of popcorn that tasted like chalk, I sat in front of the tube, and flipped the remote. What was happening on the box didn't catch my interest, but the dialogues reminded me of things we'd said. Like the times you asked me why I felt the need to smoke something before we went out with friends and I pretended not to hear you. I would ask you if you'd seen my black shoes, or if you knew where my jeans were. When the boyfriend in the sitcom played stupid, it was me I was seeing. When I thought back on what happened, you know, I realized I was thick-headed. I was blind to my own self-centeredness and to your needs. I thought I would be a fool to get so involved, to open up my heart and have it broken. Little did I know that the hurt experienced is the essence of being in love. All I expected was eventual jealousy and bitterness. I couldn't find the words to tell you and you probably wouldn't have believed me then if I had. I went to bed earlier than usual feeling as if I were the one who was hurt.