I waited. I sat on the balcony at the end of the hotel and stared at the ocean, freezing and smoking. Just as I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, he returned. He started fumbling around with my iPod and tried to make small talk. I could tell that he was nervous. He finally came over and sat beside me on the bed and said that he felt that he wasn’t ready to commit to someone, that he’s been traveling for the past three years and doesn’t think he can stay in one place. He knows that it sounds cliché, but it’s him, not me. He thinks that I’m an amazing person, and he respects me, but he’s used to taking care of just himself, and maybe he’s just meant to be alone.
Lame! I asked, “Did you not know this about yourself before you decided to fly halfway around the world to meet me?” I didn’t want to show him how much he was hurting me, and I definitely didn’t want him to see me cry, so after giving him a little speech I called a cab. He pulled me over to him and hugged me around the waist, his head buried in my stomach, for what seemed like forever. I realized that he was a broken and confused guy with no idea what he was doing in his life. I had fallen hook, line, and sinker into this fantasy, and so had he. The difference between us is that I had the ability to try to make it real, and he did not.
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