Boxes are barely unpacked and I am standing
Center floor and wide eyed in love
With the cable man.
He’s no celebrity like I’ve seen strutting down the
streets of the Upper East Side
But I am miles away from my boring southern state
And boy is he handsome.
After the pleasantries of my origin story, he looks
at me with his left brow lifted in disbelief
And with a thick urban accent asks, “And you left
there for Brooklyn?”
I smile my awkward, sheltered suburban girl smile,
And mentally regret jumping on the first apartment
listing for New york on craigslist.
He smiles at me and after finishing the job asks for
my number.
I can barely hold in my excitement, and race around
my apartment hugging myself harder than one probably should.
I wonder if this is the how all the pretty girls
feel when they are asked out.
But even I don’t have time to daydream
Because just as my being fills with joy,
The dark
cloud of my insecurities hover over me.
This time, they skip the formalities and get
straight to the point.
“He’s not going to call you.”
“You’re just
a joke.”
And like the last time,
And every time before the last,
I listen.
I agree.
I doubt.
And the negativity I feel begins seeping through my
pores the moment I receive my long awaited call
For every compliment he gives, I have a reason he’s
clearly blind.
And soon our pleasant and promising conversation
turns into the one reason he won’t be calling me again.
He likes girls with confidence,
And sadly I have too many daddy issues unresolved.
He could’ve been the one.
Just like all the rest.
