Mr Wrong, Mr Right
J and I arrive first.
We sit, chatting, in a neat little flat on a dozy warm day in May.
I don’t remember who arrives next.
I do remember my first impressions.
Mr Right: Love at first sight.
Mr Wrong: “What a dick.”
Mr Right immediately brightens any room with his presence.
Mr Wrong just gets on everyone’s nerves.
Mr Wrong tells me his sob story.
Arrogantly, I decide to save him.
After our first cotton-candy sweet kiss after a day at the fair, I come home, collapse on the floor and cry.
Everything feels wrong.
For two and a half years I fight a fight I never wanted to win.
A fight to keep a relationship alive that was dead before it began.
Five days to convince myself I’m happy.
Saturday: Pitching back into despair.
Two and a half years of trying to stop thinking about him. Trying to forget someone I deeply care about for someone I alternately loathe and pity.
Sobbing “I’m happy” as my life falls to pieces.
I cheat. An innocent brush of the lips on a sleep warm cheek after a silly, sweaty, breathless tickle fight.
And against everything I believe, that wrong makes everything so right.
This piece was written during Week 1 of Laura Jane Williams’ fabulous writing course “Don’t Be a Writer, Be a Storyteller”. Laura really helped me get over myself and just start writing, as well as providing a fantastic toolkit for improving my work. I would not be posting this stuff without her. #srsummerschool