by Patia Braithwaite
I will never forget the feeling I had when The Besticle came back the second time (only to disappear months later). I was so primed. I was so ripe and ready to be loved. I had done months of soul-searching and my heart was ready to explode. He called. I answered.
He was forgiven before he even asked.
The night we reconciled, I was a goner. The truth is, I felt love in the tips of my big toes. I’d felt love in my head before and I’d felt the warmth of my heart, but there was a tingling in my big toe that felt like glitter. It was warm and shinny. Intoxicating and exciting. I felt like I discovered my own magic.
I floated into my apartment that night, and stretched myself across the bed; then I called my three best friends.
“I feel love in my toes,” I babbled incoherently. “I’m going to go all into this. And so I need you all to hold the fear. I need you all to be on standby if this goes horribly wrong.”
My friends were gracious. They held my caution (and their tongues). They’d seen me through the first breakup, and they were happy I was happy. They knew, however, this would probably go wrong.
And, of course, it did. It went horribly horribly wrong…