Not Quite In Love: A Playlist

From the Bottom of My Broken Heart

"It is over," he declared. Not a warble in his voice, mind you.

I hung up without a sound leaving my lips. I didn't have the perfect lyrics yet.

His name re-appeared on my phone. Wedging the device into my palm, I felt my fingers engulf the case with superhuman strength.

Don't drop the phone, I begged myself.

Holding onto the phone was one thing. Bringing it to my ear, answering it, and hearing his voice, again, was another. I listened for a moment as the melodic ringtone played with unrelenting persistence. I didn't even like the tune that much.

This phone didn't play music. It didn't send pictures. The best it could do was make calls and send messages.

When I was seventeen, this was all we had. We didn't know any better, oblivious to the possibilities. And in hindsight, for the lovers out there, it was the perfect device.

But not on this day.

This personal technology keeping me connected to the world was a curse. If my boyfriend had no way of reaching me, he couldn't call me on our two-year anniversary and break up with me.

In my scorned mind, this little piece of machinery ruined everything. If he didn't have a way of breaking my heart so easily, perhaps it wouldn't happen.

Delusional thinking.

This was all a first for me. First heartbreak, first break-up, first time confronting the idea relationships begin then end.

There was so much I wanted to say to him. A thank-you for being my love. A plea for him to not leave me. Undignified professions of adoration.

But with the dart through my dreams, and my heart, the words alluded me.

Get Over You

I could see the dress hanging in my closet. This bombshell dress.

Among the bounty of coloured cloth, the naked eye wouldn't notice it. It's not like it was a wedding dress or anything like that. But everytime I opened my cupboard doors, my stare fixated on it.

I bought it in secret.

The moment my fingers touched the silk, I felt my body transported to the little store at the back of my local shopping centre.

Insignificant, sheltered in the furthest corner of the building, if it wasn't for the hum of the store's stereo, you wouldn't know it was open.

I didn't hesitate to buy it. The dress was sexy, tying up at my neck and cutting down to show more cleavage than I had ever entertained.

Which wasn't much, by the way.

As much as I knew I would never be able to wear this in front of my then-boyfriend, I purchased it anyway. I told myself to bury it in the depths of my bedroom for a rainy day.

Today was a rainy day.

The first time I was leaving the house and interacting with boys as a single woman. And it happened to be a rainy day. The dress would render itself inappropriate for the ilk of the soiree; a house party. Not a swanky bar serving lavish cocktails.

Alas, I was a single woman, determined to get over him. Exuding unnatural amounts of confidence.

Hating him.

Revenge dressing.

Normal break-up things to do, I told myself.

The party was perfectly deafening, the music sustaining the party until long after I said goodbye.

If You're Not The One

I spotted him across the park.

The vast sea of green grass wasn't enough to create enough separation I needed from him. He dominated my thoughts. He stopped me from having dreams at night. Or any form of slumber. He was showing up as I was trying to restore any order to my life.

What timing?!

The temporary euphoria of being single lasted as long as the music did. One or two nights. Now it was day, and in the confronting light, there was nowhere to hide.

My heart changed rhythm. It was quick, almost predictable from exercise. Now it was pounding, out of sync, fueled by my trepidation. All because we shared the same air.

For the years we dated, we never once stumbled into each other in a public park. Now, it was like he couldn't be anywhere else.

Why couldn't he have let me have the park?

Why did he have to be here, too?

There was nothing to indicate he saw me. Not a wave, not a smile, not a falter in his step. If he knew I was there, his body didn't give it away.

We were no longer together, but even from far away, he managed to stop me in my tracks. How could this be if he wasn't the man I was meant to be with? How does someone who is so wrong for you make you question your every step?

The questions, too many questions, I couldn't stand them.

I Want You

The music thumped in my chest. Loud, penetrating, a beat that I heard in my ears in the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom.

I knew every lyric, knew when to push my body forwards and when to swing my body in a twisting motion. But under the technicolour lights, I wasn't dancing alone.

I was in the middle of a sea of bodies, shifting and swaying in unison, performing the ritualistic mating dance of the recently single young adults.

To some, it was just a nightclub. To me, it was a haven, where any memory of my heartbreak would dissipate amongst the sweat and chaos.

As I began to treasure my emotional emptying, a man, more beautiful than I could imagine, began shifting at the same time as me. I could feel myself wanting him, not to love, but to hold against my body.

Move with my body.

Fulfil basic, hormonal desires to be touched and pleasured.

Under the spell of the music, love didn't exist.

Changes

The coffee shop wasn't big enough to hide my apprehension. There wasn't enough distraction, or discord to draw on when he eventually noticed I was manifesting my fear.

Because he would notice. I was trembling.

I had never been on a traditional date like this before. Nor had I met a man, since my ex, who kissed him and wanted to see me the next day. You could say this was a phenomenon in my life, a realisation only dawning on me about ten seconds before walking into my date.

It was more than my cool could bear. It was out the door. Along with litres of sweat, too.

I couldn't justify what was happening with any rationale. I knew this new man liked me. He told me so.

And I didn't feel the dating nerves the way the world told me I would. I wasn't concerned about sitting in a cafe with a perfect stranger. The older I grew, the more I embraced this as part of adulting.

Better get used to it, and all that.

No, I felt petrified about the change. This date marked an end of an era, I thought. No, I assumed it did. With this date, my ex, my first love, would forever vanish, erased from my life. I knew it was coming, changes in my life.

But as the date went from being an idea to realisation, I wasn't entirely sure I was ready.

Don't Think I'm Not

I set the dock on top of a set of drawers and twirled the turntable to a new playlist.

Choosing each song for the occasion was a masterful operation, much like picking each piece of clothing to wear. I had spent over an hour packing a bag and building this playlist, investing too much time into a few hours of my time.

Yet, every decision spoke volumes about my current mood; devoid of trust. Seeking an escape.

And I had found it.

This wasn't like any other night. It started the same as many had lately, though. Me going about my life followed by a message from a girlfriend exposing another cheating boyfriend. Boring and predictable, the claims these men made, of wanting me and only me, were quickly debunked.

When tonight's message came in, I read the words in belief. Of course, my friend had seen my man at the movies with a nameless girl.

Cheating on me in the privacy of a hotel room, or someone's home would be too kind. How could I expect anything different?

I didn't cry. There wasn't a welling in my eyes, or even a tinge of sadness. Foolish me if I did.

Another message came as quickly as the first.

"Are you going to be ok?" she asked me.

Kind of her to inquire, I thought, yet highly unnecessary. Politely refusing her help, I didn't see the point in explaining why I didn't need her. I couldn't admit I had already pre-empted the heartache and was spending the night in the arms of a charming man.

I know two wrongs don't make a right, but it was impossible to deny how well it was working out for me.

Needy Girl

This guy could have been the one.

Could, a prospect, someone I could spend some time with. Spend late nights with. Spend early mornings with.

Share my life.

Share his life.

Become a unit, doing life together, whatever it threw at us.

A life with him would be a twist, a change of melody, a tempo I hadn't danced to in a long time. For the first time, the future sounded like something I wanted to listen to.

Yet, that would be wanting too much. Not because he didn't return the feelings or because he couldn't see a life with me. But because I opened my big mouth and told him so.

This incident marked a milestone in my dating life; lessons of being a female. If you tell a man how you feel within a timeframe they deem rushed and fast, you're a needy girl.

Add this to the list of being too loud, not loud enough, too sexy, not sexy enough, dumb, too smart, too flexible in my feelings, too inflexible in my emotions, a pushover and too fearless.

Add this to everything you can do wrong as a complicated woman.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

It had almost been two years again. Two years with a man, two years with someone who could put aside everything to be with me.

I didn't think it would happen again. Every affair, every relationship, if you could call my trysts that, had lasted weeks, days, not months, and especially not years.

And then came the time, the inevitable I expected every day we were together.

It was the day I had overstayed my welcome, a visitor in my man's life, a person who couldn't take 'go away' for an answer.

This time I could feel it was the day. I could see the days dwindling as our temperaments soured towards each other. When he declared that day would be it, his 'no more', I was a mere stranger in his life.

With a door key.

Explaining I'm just visiting.

I didn't know if I was the one worth leaving. I didn't know what reprehensible relationship crime I had committed against him.

What I didn't know didn't change the truth. I would sleep alone that night.

Music Matters

It was the start, all over again.

The start of the story, the start of the metaphorical playlist, the start of another repetition in life. Cyclic dating. Boring old (almost) falling in and out of love.

Like every dance we do, there's a beginning, middle and eventual end. The music stops, we stop, and we call it a day.

I climbed into bed the day after I found myself single again, with my phone and a set of earphones. It was all I needed.

How far I had come, and how far the music had come too.

Under the sheets with my radio

Turn down low

So nobody know

It's the late night show

Hopin' to hear Hey Joe

Jimmy was my hero

Head blown by Type are or was it the true star?

From Dali Lama to Tanamo

Curtis Mayfield

Say Kurtis Blow

Singing into my pillow

And praying I don't dose

Until my 9 Volt battery goes

You told me to look much further

You told me to walk much more

You told me that music matters....

...And so does (almost) love.

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For everyone almost in love xxx