Spent

Well, it's over. The Love Truck rolled through town and we collected 226 video love stories over the course of 3 days.

That's a whole lotta love.

While the event itself was a success professionally... personally, it was an awful lot like Chinese water torture. Hour after hour. Person after person. Couple after couple. Day after day. 226 stories with one thing in common: Love.

drip. drip. drip. drip. driiiip... drip.

When things were busy (which luckily, was most of the time), I was able to just focus on doing my JOB and not think about what people were actually SAYING: "It was love at first sight." "I never thought it would happen to me." "I met the love of my life." "My soul mate." "It was simply meant to be."

One guy even told me how he'd met his now fiancee at Grand Central -- right by the clock. "How romantic is that?" he gushed while waiting for his turn inside the truck. "I saw her standing there, and I just knew."

Somehow, I was able to just nod and smile (even though Grand Central was exactly where WE met for the first time, where we "just knew," and where I thought we would marry in August). I think I was able to ignore this dagger sticking out of my chest because there was a line of people waiting to share their own stories.

There was work to do.

But when things were slow, or when I was alone in the taxi ride back to the hotel each night, it was another story. I could say I didn't let it get to me. That I shook it off. That it's been 3+ weeks since my relationship officially ended, when my life imploded, and I'm doing fine. I could say I didn't cry once. Not in the taxi. Not in the shower. Not outside Dean & Deluca in front of a man eating what appeared to be a gyro.

I could say all those things. But they would be lies.

I'm searching for the jokes here, but there are none. And to top it all off, Day 2 of Love Truck was the anniversary of our 2nd date. Did I know the actual DATE off the top of my head? No. But I do know Michael Jackson died about 20 minutes before we went to dinner. So the wall-to-wall coverage of the 1st anniversary of his death on Friday brought back a FLOOD of memories for me, too. They had nothing to do with MJ. They were all about that 2nd date.

I remember where we went. I remember what we wore. I remember what we ordered. I remember every detail of our conversation that night. I remember our walk back to Grand Central like it was yesterday. And I remember being filled with hope. With possibility.

With love.

What a difference a year makes. Like I said... I'm spent.