Days 2 & 3 Back Home

I haven't updated for the past few days because I've been in such emotional turmoil.  I am constantly thinking about my first love because everything I see/do/experience feels connected to him.  On my second day back home, some of our mutual friends got in contact with me to plan a get-together.  I was so excited and nervous at the same time because as usual, I wondered if they had any news to share with me about him.  I also wondered how I would broach the topic, and I thought of all the ways I could seem less pathetic in their eyes for being so stuck on what happened 10 years ago.

In the end, I had dinner with those girls and got very little information.  Towards the end of the night, when I couldn't imagine how else to weave his name into our topics, I just interjected and asked, "How's Robert? Do you guys know anything about him?"  In less than 3 sentences, they simply said that they just saw him last weekend and that he's fine and is simply working these days.  Period.  End of story. Change to a different topic altogether.

I wanted so desperately to ask more and to get them to tell me more.  What is he doing these days? What work? He used to be so passionate about graphic design but last I heard, he said he was switching to engineering to better financially provide for his mom who was diagnosed with cancer.  Is he doing engineering now or graphic design?  And if they saw him last weekend, was it because they were celebrating his birthday? Because his birthday was 2 weeks ago and I hope he had a celebration and he was surrounded by loved ones.

Alas, I said nothing and held my tongue.  These girls are not my friends.  They are with him and they will tell me as little as possible.  And as usual, I went home disappointed and regretful of the dinner outing because I feel worse than ever.  I mentally give myself a swift kick in the butt to remind myself that this happens every. single. time.  I always go out with these girls hoping to learn more, and end up having a miserable time throughout our dinners and biting my tongue from asking all that I want to ask.  I always worry about their judgment toward me and what they might tell Robert later on.  I fake laughter and poise to hold onto the last shred of dignity I have.  Even though deep down, I am yelling and screaming and begging for any information possible about him.  Desperate for anything that can help me be connected with him again or at least feel like I understood what truly happened between us.

In essence, I came home and cried and cried and cried.