The Urban Cowboy

This man feels like sipping on overpriced margaritas at our local bar to dissolve the lumps in my throat from the heartbreak I am trying to mask. The morning tears underneath my concealer can not be hidden from him. Holding his hand is like holding onto my sanity – the final thread, and he knows this, yet he still holds my hand, hoping that one day holding his hand will be like holding onto a love I never knew I wanted. His freshly cut mullet reminds me of Morgan Wallen, and I giggle and ache all at the same time while he brushes my arm. I can never smell cologne, I can only smell his breakup on his t-shirt, and while I sigh in weakness, my head falls on his shoulder. He whispers “Ah, now you are comfortable” with the most tender smile on his face. I stare down at his hey dudes with guilt because I am a heartbroken fool, seeking a temporary escape from lonely nights, and unfortunately I know he is doing the same. ‘Misery loves company’ finally settles into my veins and my only comfort is knowing that in this season we are the same. Although, the broken heal and their feet will move again, but I disregard the reality and allow myself to confess my surface level secrets in his truck that smells of clean leather and white claws. We endlessly loop around our hometown that looks clean and new for the first time in 26 years. We forget about our tears throughout the night, listening to our favorite songs while the rain pours – he doesn’t fear that the road is blurry, or that the night will soon end – so will our temporary escape. This man wants more with time — he wants my heart. But my love does not exist in this moment, so this man feels like a sweet dream in the midst of my insomnia. My made up version of an urban cowboy.