Everyone experiences at least one miserable curse. It's destiny's way of balancing things out. We all must suffer. My curse isn't partner issues, hopeless romantics, or an impeccable streak of toxic exes. It's the lack thereof.
"You should be grateful," my friends keep reminding me, as they share their unfortunate escapades and traumatic breakups. The heartaches. I understand that. I really do. I haven't been unfortunate enough to have my heart broken in thirty years. What a blessing! Yet, I also haven't had my heart beat passionately for someone for thirty... fucking... years.
I know, right?! What is wrong with me? You must be wondering. You'd assume I must be unattractive, too damaged, or simply intolerable. But you'd be mistaken.
While I'm not the kind of woman who turns heads when walking into a room, I still look fine. I'm funny, kind, strong, and determined. I know exactly what I want, and I go for it. I wouldn't stop. And maybe that's the problem?
You see, I'm always too busy working on something, whether it's a degree, a marathon, a novel, or just a grocery list. When I set my mind to something, it's all I see, and there has always been a lot on my mind. A whole world to explore, a journey within to embark on.
So, dear future partner (if you exist), I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I've been too busy living my life to the fullest, you know? You're more than welcome to join me, but I'm not going to stop and wait, babe.
YOU ARE READING
The Book Of Misfits
Short Story/ˈmɪsfɪt/ noun: ❝ a person whose behaviour or attitude sets them apart from others in an uncomfortably conspicuous way.❞
