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At the job I met T. He was the owner’s nephew and was working at the restaurant, too. I fell in love with him.
The awful, first love kind of way where you never think you will ever in a million years feel the way you feel about the man you are with.
Only, our relationship wasn’t a good one. T was an alcoholic, 10 years my senior, who despised life. While his self-loathing and misery didn’t rub off on me, it was entirely taken out on me. Our relationship was one of cyclical emotional abuse. It was pints of I-love-you’s with double shots of I-hate-you’s and lots and lots (and lots) of tears. And crazy wicked emotional hangovers.
At the job I met T. He was the owner's nephew and was working at the restaurant, too. I fell in love with him. The awful, first love kind of way wher ...
Tonight I am packing boxes. Big, monster wardrobe boxes. I don't like packing. At all. And this time, it's gross.
I could barely hide the tears when I hugged my co-worker goodbye yesterday. And tonight, embracing people who have made my time in Atlanta so marvelou ...
