Almost, Well, Could've Been

I don't have an instinctual knack for story telling. The running joke in my family is if it's my turn to tell a story, grab some popcorn and get comfortable because it's going to be a while before I finish. I love including minor details in my stories, like what someone was wearing, the way they looked at me, how cold it was outside, et cetera, et cetera.

I guess I should rephrase. I don't have a knack for telling short stories, but this story is short.

Like months short.

The guy I'm going to be talking about I'm going to refer to as Josh, because why not?

The first time I met Josh, there was this feeling that lingered around for the entire length of time I knew him, that feeling where you know you know someone, its that nagging feeling in the back of your brain that silently repeats itself saying over and over again, "you know him from somewhere." But getting to know him made me believe that we probably knew each other in a past life.

My nature is to be quite timid and shy around men I find attractive, meaning that I'll avoid them at all costs until it's unavoidable,

But you can't sincerely avoid someone you work with.

It didn't take me long to learn that this guy was a MASSIVE flirt. He would rub my arm, wink at me, steal pens from me, et cetera, et cetera. But he would do the same things to some other girls, too. It seems like ya girl got totally caught up in the serial flirter's trap. When he would need something, he would ask for what he wanted and then would give a stupid cute smile and his wide baby blue eyes would scrunch up around the corners revealing little laugh lines, which for someone whose type is blonde hair, blue eyes, was basically kryptonite. But over time, that initial thought of "Dang he's cute," turned into "daaaaannnnnngggg, maybe I like him."

I am under no delusion that this guy liked me. He could have.

But probably didn't.

Which is completely fine.

It's not a self hating sort of "no one could ever love me," because that is such a cop out. Sometimes guys are just not into you; not every guy is going to be into you.

The fact of the matter is, I liked him.

I liked his personality.

His tattoos.

His giggle.

His hair.

His eyes.

His face.

But like all good things, this came to an end.

I overheard one day that he had something important to tell the guys he worked with and my heart sunk.

He was leaving. I knew it with every fiber of my being and when I had worked up the guts to ask about it, he told me that he had found a job closer to home that had less work and more pay.

I gave him the best smile I could muster and told him that was amazing, that I wished him good luck.

But in reality, I screamed the entire drive home.

Not a shriek, but more of a loud groan that lasted my entire fifteen minute drive.

I got to work with him his second-to-last day, which was then that I found out that he had no idea what my name was, but not for lack of trying. I guess he had asked around when he realized it but luckily, no one told it to him. There is power in a name and he didn't deserve mine.

But nevertheless, I came home from work that night with tears in my eyes and an ache in my chest. I hoped he would be mine, I wanted him to do something, maybe reach out somewhere, but he hasn't and I have a good feeling he won't.

I liked him, so I gave myself a day to mourn the fact that I'll definitely never see him again.

My mom always says that when we don't get something we wanted, it's just God's way of saving us from heartbreak. God, what if I wanted my heart to be shattered into a million pieces by him?

I woke up the next day with a phrase my coworker had said to me bouncing around my head over and over again, "Who do you want to be?"

I'm not sure.

But I know who I don't want to be.

I don't want to be someone who clings on to a guy because she finds her identity in him.

I don't want to be someone who can't get over a guy that wasn't hers in the first place.

I don't want to be someone who focuses on what could have been instead of focusing on all of the good times together.

I don't want to be someone who holds on to an illusion, forsaking anyone else.

Who do you want to be is a question so heavy and yet so simple.

I realized, while meditating on this question, that I'm going to run into a million Josh's.

They are going to come in all forms and figures and most likely all but one will walk away.

Who knows what Fate has locked up in her infinite plan, but as for now, Fate has decided that this Josh, the one with the floppy blonde hair and baby blue eyes, isn't my Josh.