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.

Still.

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.

***

Post-weekend: Relief.

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

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