Maybe it's worth a try

 

Men are meant to hurt... Women are meant to suffer. Perhaps this is a valid statement, but what if there are two women in a relationship? Who then takes the role of the man, and who the poor, hurt girl? Two confident people, wanting to be together, even loving each other, as people put it "differently," but loving nonetheless. Suddenly they break up, or an event beyond their control ends what existed between them, what then? – both suffer, and who is left to play the man, the brute who exploited their innocence and ignorance and then dumped them?

Perhaps the blame is mutual, or rather, there isn't any. Then the decision looks something like this: "We loved each other, but we both decided to break up. Now we're friends" – the version for friends who knew about the relationship. After all, homosexuality is still an incredibly sensitive topic. You lie to your friends, and when they're gone, you can't stand each other. You don't see each other anymore; on the contrary, you avoid each other. When you see each other on the sidewalk, one of you crosses the street and turns her head to avoid looking in the other's direction. Mutual friends invite you, trips to cafes, pizzerias, pubs, walks together, or even mundane house parties. Then you both look for excuses, both find them, and neither of you manages to make it to such a meeting. Unwise, yet so commonplace.
Then the question arises... why? Was it worth it? But what? Surely, was it worth starting this relationship, or perhaps, was becoming a lesbian the right decision? Then another thought arises: maybe these guys aren't so bad after all? Maybe this decision was hasty. Then the independent and seemingly strong woman begins to turn into a sloppy something. She can't pull herself together and find her place. She stops taking care of herself and begins to think that nothing good will ever happen to her in life. This stagnation lasts for a while. Sometimes it ends in depression, other times something happens that turns the whole situation around…
SHE appears… A new, nice girl, seen on the street, in a bar, at the post office, in the butcher's shop, or anywhere else for the first time, and what? Infatuation sets in. At first, it's subtle, but nonetheless, your heart beats faster at the sight of her, you want to see her all the time, you try to be in the same place as her as often as possible. Chance encounters, the first words exchanged. Hesitant conversations, fleeting glances, and then it's time to find the answer to a nagging question. Perhaps one of the most important in this situation – is she also the one who loves women? You go out to dinner together, both nicely dressed, and you don't know how to ask. Finally, the moment arrives, a sentence slips through your dry throat and chapped lips. You watch her face change. You can see one of two expressions.
The first one, the one you feared the most. Suddenly, the smile disappears from her face and she glares at you with disgust. Utterly disgusted, she looks as if she'd swallowed a frog and washed it down with someone's urine, praising it to the skies, only to later learn what she'd consumed. Then, sympathy fills her eyes. She looks at you for a moment with sad eyes. "We can't be friends anymore"—this is her statement, then she stands and leaves, leaving you alone at the table. To top it all off, the entire room is staring at you, wondering what happened between you. As quickly as you can, you call the waiter, try to calm your voice, try not to burst into tears in front of all the "vultures" waiting for a surprise, and ask for the check. You pay and leave the place as quickly as possible. Then everything repeats itself as after the previous heartbreak, only thankfully it lasts shorter and has less consequences.
The second one is the one you're waiting for. The reaction you crave. Her smile widens, revealing her perfect, white teeth. Her red lips are a perfect contrast. You look into her eyes, making sure that what you see is truly genuine. When you see her eyes, lit with sparks of joy, you no longer have any doubts. Your heart warms. You'd love to run to her, take her in your arms, and kiss her, but the surroundings hold you back. What would people say? How would they react to two lesbians in a decent restaurant? How would the owner react? So for now, your happiness remains confined to the two of you. The only gesture you allow yourself is a gentle touch of your hands, almost unique, like the brush of a butterfly's wings—perfect. Then the words come out: "I've waited so long for someone like you. Why are you only showing up now? Should we do something about it? Let's move in together!" Hearing this makes you want to jump for joy, but all you do is smile at her, genuinely and broadly.
After a while, you leave the place and wonder which one of you to go to. The decision is made within seconds – you choose your apartment. It's a good thing she came by taxi – you get in your car, start the engine with trembling hands, and head towards your house. After this evening, it will be yours. Everything that was previously yours will be hers after this night. You try to focus your full attention on the road, but you can't. You feel her close; she places her hand on your knee and gently begins to stroke your thigh… up and down. You briefly take your attention off the road and look at her… you smile warmly, and you get the same response. Fortunately, there's little traffic, so you don't have to worry about her too much. Another glance, another smile…
You arrive home. You park on the sidewalk, turn off the engine, and sit in the car for a moment longer. You look at each other, wanting to make sure this is the right move. Your heart is pounding, you feel your palms sweating. A deep breath and you get out of the car. You wait for her to approach you. She stands beside you, and only then do you begin walking toward the building where you live. Your hands brush against each other, and then she takes your hand. She squeezes it, and it gives you courage, another smile, another step together. Will you continue to walk through life like this? Will you be able to count on her? Was it really the right decision, or can everything still be turned around? Maybe living alone isn't so bad? A thousand questions, one answer—it can't hurt to try. You approach the door, pull your keys out of your purse. You'll have to make a set for her. You insert them into the lock, turn it. You look at her again… you open the door, and all doubts vanish. You step inside, the door slams shut behind you, but you don't hear it, you're already in your own world… one that no one will spoil for you… But are you really?