Somedays, I don’t blog about it. Somedays, I don’t talk about it. Somedays, I think I am healed from the experience of going to morrocco and meeting someone who would soon dump me as if I was garbage. I haven’t gotten over it yet. I am still hurt. On vacation, lovely photos of my husband and me. We are holding hands, people admire us. I sit on the beach and think of walking along the shore with a guy named Fouad. He is saying, “I love you Margo.” what a story. I never wanted to involve mediums, husbands and prayer in what was once just a guy and a girl caring for one another.
Sometimes, I miss Fouad.I can feel tears in my eyes as I type this.I always say I write the truth because I wait for another girl to say, “Margo, it happened to me.” I can’t understand how someone can just one day decide they want nothing to do with someone they claimed to love.
I have a hard time forgiving myself for selling some of my most beautiful jewelry to help pay for tickets to go to Agadir.I never should have. I always thought I was romantic. I thought at that time I needed to be brave and trust in fate. I never knew he would be so careless. I have flashbacks of his smile. I don’t know..
Sometimes, I think I just have to go cry, like right now.