One more time...

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I don't write love stories anymore. Ever since my last heartbreak, believing in love just felt like a total waste of time. That feeling of getting to know someone, let them get through your walls and then destroy you, leaving you with the words "it wasn't you, it was me".

They always left me with a sense of perfection, you see. They left me with the thought that I really wasn't the problem, that they weren't deserving of my love, yet they moved on so quickly and gave the love they never showed to me to the next person.

It kept me guessing. I guessed until I found the next and he made me his ex once again. Leaving me for a lady he assured me wasn't half the woman I was but he gave her twice the affection he showed me. Was I really not the problem or was he just saying that to move away from me as fast as he could?

Things changed on the day I met you. I felt the humid harmattan breeze as it moved around the house and made the window shutters shake mildly. You sat right in front of the tv screen tapping away aimlessly on the controller, searching for the sports channel. You seemed indifferent, or maybe it was all a ploy to make me more attracted to you. Well, it worked.

I had just gotten to Sandra's house to spend the weekend when she told me her cousin Todd would be coming to spend just a night in her guest bedroom so that meant I wouldn't get the chance to walk around naked like I planned.

"It's just a night", she promised me. "He's a shy guy so you won't even know he's here".

"That's fine", I said, even though I was sad.


A few minutes after Sandy introduced us, she left for the gym and begged me to be nice. I promised her it wouldn't be an issue, seeing that he didn't say more than 2 words when I said my name.

You can't imagine the surprise when he stepped into the kitchen while I was in the middle of making pasta. I had just poured the parboiled pasta into the pot with the steaming sauce when I heard a warm masculine voice say, "hello, there".

I made sure I had skillfully disposed of the content in the pot before I turned around to respond with a smile. I needed him out of my kitchen quickly. Cooking anxiety is a thing.

"Hey, there. You need anything?", I said like a proper hostess, rather than a person who just needed him out of her way.

"Just a conversation. Need a hand with that?", he asked while pointing at my unturned pasta in the pot.

He reached for my hand and skillfully took the spatula away from me and headed straight for the pot. He held onto the pot handle like a pro, and carefully mixed the pasta and tomato paste until it settled, then he turned the gas down low and covered the pot.

All the while he did this, he smiled. He seemed so at ease performing the task, I almost didn't recognise him as the aloof individual of a few hours ago. I liked him.

We sat on opposite sides of the dining while we had our pasta and some red wine I had planned on drinking with Sandy. I don't know why she took so long to get home, but when she did, she seemed happy walking in on me and her weird cousin sharing a laugh.

That night was special. I knew you were special. Sandy assured me you were different from all the other guys. So, when we shared that kiss just before you left for the airport, I felt secure knowing I had probably found something real.

This brings us to the present. It has been 7 days since you left. I'm back to my apartment, sitting on my worn-out couch that has a few tears on the leather that I recently covered with some black nail polish. My windows are shut, thanks to my phobia of harmattan, but I have my fan on its highest speed.

I have my legs suspended on my little centre table that almost looks like a centre stool and although my 52-inch plasma TV has the new season of Briderton on, I can't take my eyes off my phone. I've been in these sweatpants for nearly 24 hours and if it wasn't for the terrible weather, I was sure I had an odour about now.

He has occupied my thoughts so I just sit there hoping and waiting. It has been so long, my mind keeps running around possible scenarios and questioning myself for believing you in the first place. You probably realised I wasn't worth the effort in the first place, that's what usually happens.

How on earth could a man be so engrossed with texting a woman for 6 days and not text for an entire day???

You thought he ghosted me? Hell no. We've been going through rounds of talking stage drama but he just disappeared last night and I haven't heard a word since.

I know it's still too early to call Sandy and probe her so I just wait. I try to distract myself with the show but it doesn't work so I'm working up the perfect plan to get myself up from the couch and make lunch and that's when I hear a knock on the door.

I guess in the end they were all right. I wasn't the problem after all.

THE END

Thanks for reading

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