Ghosts

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I finally stopped crying. It finally seems silly. Took more time to get over him than the total time that I knew him. But I finally stopped crying.


Then I came to my favorite place; my favorite secret corner for coffee, food and comfy chairs, with a view of the sea, wireless internet and an invitation to stay as long as I'd like.

And I remember that I took him here. He got to come here on a second date. I would have brought him here on the first, he was that cute, but I let him choose. I brought him here, and he loved it. He loved my choice. He loved my face and he loved my nose and he loved my personality and he loved everything about me.

And we ordered fattening food and didn't care. And we ate it all and we laughed and we talked and this was my favorite place times a zillion.

And then it didn't work out, but this stayed my favorite place.

So I have come here to pass the time until I have to be somewhere else. And it's not fair that after I finally stopped crying about him, he's still lurking in the corner.

But it's a good thing that I don't let the ghosts of dates and boyfriends past dictate where I go or don't go. I'd have nothing to do. For goodness sake. My life is one long Burt Bacharach song.

So, I'll choke back the tears, flirt with the young waiter, and order pecan pie.

Because there are moments in life when you really need pecan pie.

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