The Flea Market

I went to coffee with a friend of mine last night who is in a similar post-breakup period. I asked him if he missed his x and he replied for ten ultra-intense minutes a day. His question back to me and I said "I miss him when he is linked to specific event that I loved," for instance watching Sunday night episodes of 'Mad Men' together, or how he would record episodes of 'Project Runway' for me to get hyper excited over when I came for a visit. But the thing I most miss about him is our Sunday mornings together. My stomach turns a big concave inwards when I think about it and it feels like someone has poured salt on a wound... I miss the FLEA MARKET!

Every sunday morning as poignant as weekly religion, we would hit up early the Flea Market. We would wander up and down the aisles, linked arm and arm, both legs moving at the same pace, at the same time. We often joked about how we were so in synch that we could blow away competition at a three legged race. But we were in-synch here, it was our favorite thing to do together. The flea market sells random things from old teapots to dingy old toys from the 90's, I could go on but it's as if you wandered into every strangers attack of stuff they don't need or use and were allowed to have a look around. It was all there for us and we would enjoy every moment of it.

Along with the oblong surrounding of random objects came the artists from far and wide. With extraordinary talents that I would admire. I snapped this quick picture of a life size spoon and fork dancing, a lawn ornament that the wind moves in a forever circle. Although the price ranges were usually too extraordinary for an early 20's gal, I would breath in the creativity. I had a soft spot for ladies who made there own jewelry, and have acquired many a bracelet and necklace to add to my collection of sparkles. James was always satisfied with the array of tools found at the flea market and he would bulk his electrician bag up with well priced tools. It was fun to barter with the salespeople, we wanted the best price and we usually would only show up with $20 to achieve our vision. Both of us were usually completely satisfied when walking to the car with our array of goodies after our Sunday morning ritual.

Today is one of those beautiful weekend mornings and when I went outside and my heart ached for the simplicity of my former relationship and of having someone to go to the Flea Market with who was just as passionate about it as I am. Call me selfish, call me wicked, is it odd that a weekend event I could miss so terribly? and with that longing comes 'those old feelings' for the man that I cared for? Oh complications, oh heart filled with void! With the November cold comes a slow to the festivities of the Flea Market and it winds down for the winter. All I can hope for is my heartache will peter down at the same pace the Flea Market does.