subject line: i blame frank sinatra



Two weeks ago I had an email all written up in my head. I forgot to actually write it down and send it in, but it was going to be about the 26 hours I spent in the car driving from Utah to New York, and how we broke up two years ago and though we have remained good friends since, the three months I had just spent out West was the longest we had ever gone with out seeing or speaking to each other.
I was going to write about how it felt nice and freeing to finally have some space and not feel trapped outside of the dating world because every three months you’d tell me you missed me and I would keep such a strong grip on those three little words.
I was going to write about how I didn’t even think about you while I was gone and then how confusing it was to find myself driving at 5 AM in the middle of Iowa, with the sun still down and the world still dreaming, and all I could think about was you. Frank Sinatra was filling up my car at the time and his lyrics make me swoon, I blame him for the thought of you claiming space in my mind again.
The thing is, this email I was supposed to send in two weeks ago had a different ending. One where I remembered why we broke up and how good it felt to finally have space away from you and your ever present hold on my heart. I was supposed to write about how I turned off the Frank Sinatra and left those thoughts behind in Iowa.
However, the real ending involves my birthday celebration, and balloons, and free drinks, and dancing. The real ending involves you showing up with your dumb cute face, and your perfect hair cut and outfit. The real ending involves a boy belting hits from the 80’s to his ex-girlfriend all night and once again claiming space in her head and heart. The real ending involves me falling asleep with my head on your chest, feeling more at home than I have in two years.