You're Bad at Relationships

I was twenty, barely in my first relationship, and just scored a nearly unpaid design internship in Pittsburgh. I’d be living with my dad for the duration of the summer, longer than two weeks for the first time in a decade. I was delighted. A job and an adventure.

My mom decided right then that I wasn't quitting her, she was firing me.

I was clearly too excited about the prospect of leaving and had to be punished. She pulled her sunglasses over her eyes as she spoke, even taking on the tone of Miranda Priestly à la The Devil Wears Prada.

“Don’t bother coming back.”

“I’m sorry, what? Like ever?”

“Yes, that’s right. You’re bad at relationships.”

What a strange thought, that one could bad at relationships in the first place. Who taught you that was an option?

Relationships have always been flowers to me. Tentative openings cycle to sudden closures with many external factors weighing on their success. Some require constant tending, others are perennial, all are treated with respect.

It became impossible to tend our relationship. I severed contact in August 2020 having done all I could. I laid my flowers at the feet of my desires. I didn’t leave empty handed. I scatter compassion everywhere.

I am the best of my mother, her utmost qualities refined and coaxed from scorched earth. A lotus stretching towards the sun.