The Romantic tried to keep busy. She spent time doing all the things she let fall to the wayside while she was courting the Philosopher. She made improvements to her life hoping that those accomplishments would eclipse the Philosopher where he had failed her so dismally. (Or had she failed…?)
She spent time with her friends in order to laugh and not feel alone for a few hours. She took note of their advice but they knew and she knew that she would drop it all in a heart beat if he were to call on her again.
She forced herself not to watch the clock and stare out hoping or a glimpse of him but anytime she spotted a familiar gait, the flash of a brown leather jacket her heart (that poor, foolish little muscle) gave a hopeful lurch.
The Romantic tried to listen to the upbeat, angry music about women who had felt what she had felt but had found the courage to move on but she could relate to none of it but the only parts she could relate to were the first verse. Where the singer crooned about the romance, how she felt and how she was betrayed. She couldn’t move past the bridge to the second verse where things would get better, for as long as she was stuck in the same spot the Philosopher would be able to come back and find her.
It was foolish she knew to wait in pain for the hope of a chance that the Philosopher would finally respond, but she just needed to know.
I want you to come to me, apologize to me, explain to me, and beg for me.
She had given him countless hours of his time and in return had received nothing, she wanted something to make it all have been worth it.
There are so many lives within us both and I just wanted to try and live one with you…