Mazamitla

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Moved to Tears.”
Please, forgive my English, it’s not my native language.

maza

I was pretty exited, my “boyfriend” – I should just call him my significant other – decided to take me to Mazamitla because of my birthday, a little town placed in the sierra where you rent a cottage and all you do is enjoy nature… and getting drunk and passed out in the middle of the forest.

I had to work until 2 am the day before so I could ask the Friday off, obviously I was super tired cause even after I arrived home I had to pack all my things up.
He arrived no so early, but I was dying and tried to sleep in the car, but I couldn’t cause all of my sleep disorders. I was just lying there when we saw a family with their car broken down, we returned and took one of them to the nearest town so she could go for a mechanical. But it turned out “the closest town” (which was the one he chose), wasn’t that close, we made 45 minutes on our way there. But we felt really happy about helping others.
We arrived around 3 pm, we unpacked and went downtown to get something to eat and then buy all the things we were going to need for the carne asada. The restaurant was very fancy, but the company -as always- was boring and plane.
He said I wouldn’t do a thing all weekend, he was going to pamper me, and guess what? I ended up buying all the veggies, unfreeze the meat, make the sauces and the guacamole, and pretty much everything. By the time we sat to dinner, I was dead, and the worst part it was barely 8 pm.
When you go to this kind of places your expectation are: have a lot of fun, have a great meal, drink, dance until you can’t lift four feet and have sex, tons of sex. I could say, the meal wan’t bad, we started drinking some wine and then some whisky, I started feeling alive again and I started dancing, I wanted he dancing with me, but he was tired and he doesn’t really likes to.
I started feeling grumpy so he lighted up the hearth so I would be more entertained, but he fell asleep on the couch, mouth open after 30 minutes.
What was I left to do? I wanted to have a good time, if not party, at least have a nice talk drinking wine in front of the fire. I started feeling depressed, I was with a guy who didn’t make me happy, who wan’t smart, who didn’t like to dance, who wouldn’t have sex with me at the end of the day.
But that wan’t the worst, the worst was that I knew a men that had practically everything I looked for, we had some strong chemistry, we had philosophical and political conversations, we loved dancing, but just a couple weeks before my birthday, he announced on Facebook he had a “domestic relationship”.
Picture that, you wake up one day feeling you’ll have a great day and then out of nothing, you see a post with +125 likes telling he had a girlfriend, a girlfriend who (in case you haven’t noticed) it wasn’t you. All the moments you lived with him and all the hope you had about getting something serious when he was ready was now dead, cold blooded dead.
What else was I going to do? I was in a dreamed trip with someone who wan’t him, heart broken and unsupervised. Shakira’s old songs started playing, all those love songs I wish I could have dedicated to him, I started crying, loving and hating him at the same time right beside my drooling-sleeping-boyfriend for four years.
Fortunately, my SO kinda woke up and went to bed, but all the Adele’s post break up songs remained there with me while I singed along, crying my heart out. I drank two bottles of wine all by myself up to 4 am, and finally, when the flames were extinct and there was no drop of wine left in the bottles, I went to sleep with my swollen eyes and my heart torn.