She's whining at this bar in Harvard Square over mainstream indie rock, while I sip my IPA slowly.
"Why am I still single?!" She asks me.
I tell her what she wants to hear-that she's beautiful and flawless, that any guy would be lucky to have her. Truth was I had other things to handle-like the death of my mother 6 months prior, and issues with my own self esteem resulting from a couple 1-2 breakups.
She equated luck with flaws and attributes. At 28 she saw single as forever. She never could say one nice thing about herself unless she heard someone else say it first.
Her introspection stopped at half-assed resolutions. She would never have that moment where she felt grateful to be her, as her. Instead, she went onto meet a man who would buy her a house and take her far from the city. She would get pregnant, less than a year and a half after their first date.
As for me there is no infant, or someone to call me baby. I did not get swept off my feet and taken far away.
But should any of that ever happen, least in my mind I'll know it's mine-because I put in the time to get to know myself first.
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