A Unicorn in a World of Donkeys by Mia Michaels
Author:Mia Michaels [MICHAELS, MIA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Basic Books
Published: 2018-05-02T00:00:00+00:00
TAKE YOUR BROKEN HEART, MAKE IT INTO ART.
CARRIE FISHER, THE ORIGINAL BUNHEAD
Sounds boring, doesnât it?
Unicorns are passionate and intense; their relationships (soul matches, not flings) hardly ever fade away gently. All of my relationships have been drawn out, frustrating, and ultimately devastating. My longest lasted for five years during my mid-twenties. I was a Unicorn in training then, magic and creative but still learning to love and respect myself. I wasnât thrilled with my body at the time and questioned my desirability. My fatherâs voice from my teen yearsââIt only matters how you look!ââstill rattled around in my head, and insecurity made me a jealous girlfriend. My demons were in bed with us, and they took up way too much space.
Despite my issues, we were in love and talked about getting engaged.
We broke up in wintertime in New York. I was away teaching at a dance convention for the weekend, and I was so happy finally to come home to my apartment in Chelsea. Usually, when I got home, he was happy to see me. That night, instead of running up to me as I came through the door and wrapping me in his arms, he just stood there. Something was clearly on his mind. Weâd had a fight two nights prior on the phone, and he must have still been upset about it.
We talked for a few minutes, and then he said suddenly, âIâm going to go home tonight.â He put on his coat and left. The door closed behind him and, when I heard that loud click, a premonition flashed before my eyes. Iâll never see him again.
I got undressed to shower, but that horrible feeling of being abandoned did not let go. I couldnât act like nothing had happened. The man I wanted to marry just left my apartment without even kissing me goodbye. My vision played before my eyes once more. Iâll never see him again.
I threw on my bathrobe and decided to go find him. He couldnât have gone far in the three minutes since heâd left. I would catch him and demand an explanation. That was the plan, anyway. I opened the door and ran down West 22nd Street, barefoot, in the snow, my robe flapping in the wind, crying and shouting his name, like a deranged woman. I circled the block, but he was nowhere to be found. My feet were blue and my teeth started chattering, so I went back home, defeated and miserable.
True to my vision, I never saw him again.
He was a creative genius, a composer, who wrote beautiful, haunting music. But he wasnât brave or kind. He pretended to be compassionate, but the cruel truth came out that night, and I suffered for it.
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