Nothing usually happens on a Wednesday night, so why did I believe tonight would be any different? As the voices on the TV drown further and further out, my hand reaches for my phone as I unlock my screen with my thumb. I gaze at the array of unsaved numbers on my messages screen, until I scroll far enough down to yours. Only two months have passed since we last communicated, but those two months expanded to an eternity and I wonder how much longer I can hold out. Do I lose my two months of progress and let myself feel that wonderful, temporary happiness? I look at the last message sent and wonder if it’s still true; I look at the last message sent and wonder if you ever look at it too. My thoughts intensify as it dawns on me I have no clue who you are anymore.
My phone chimes to let me know that a different unsaved number has messaged me, yet I was still hoping that the number would be yours. I glance at the time on my phone, recognizing the lateness of the night, so I don’t bother with a response for this unsaved number. I don’t even know his name, he’s just one of the many others that I use to replace you. Ever since you left I’ve had trouble creating genuine connections. The TV voices grow louder as I begin thinking if you’ve had trouble, too. I’ll continue pretending that it is not killing me to know nothing about you with the voices on the TV, fighting crime and curing heartbreak.
The morning comes sooner than I thought as I read 6:32 AM on my bright iHome screen. Another thing I seemed to lose when I lost you was sleep, my mind wants to stay awake to avoid the continuing dreams of you. Or that’s what I tell myself, at least. Perhaps I’m avoiding that I could have more than one mental illness because that makes me feel more crazy than real. I find my phone plugged into the charger, but on the floor, as it usually is when I awake in the mornings. Notifications corrupt my screen and remind me that my attention is wanted during all times of the day. When will I be on my own schedule?
Here I am complaining about messages and social media notifications, but some people wake up to a lonely screen with no expectation, based on experience, of receiving any type of interaction. Trying to be positive and grateful, I skim through the list of messages and choose to reply to my favorite. My best friend, of course, receives my attention first and I continue our conversation from the previous night, before I fell asleep. Most of these notifications I will not respond to, but I will open all of them. I enjoy honesty, I enjoy realness — but my favorite is when you can be so honest that it’s almost manipulative. The opened message signal some of these girls receive is more symbolic than any response I could conjure up: not interested, get the hint. The words seem to scream out from their screens, yet they find themselves enticed to continue every single fucking time. Would this be irrational to think? Would other people in my position feel this annoyed that every morning they awoke to messages from those that are just hoping to get inside their pants? Am I supposed to feel flattered about this?
My mind scrambles, as if the gunshot just fired and the runners are all rushing to be in the lead. Which thought will be the winner?
“Would this be irrational to think?”
I wish I was normal. I do not know how many times I will think or say this in my life, but know that it is a lot. When I make decisions or even ponder over a thought, there is the constant fear that the way I am thinking is negative and stemming from my twisted disease. Should I text him? Would that be wrong, to intentionally choose actions that will ultimately lead to my pain? Could this time be different? Has enough time passed from our last talk, are we different? Are we removed from the situation enough to properly change or assess any behaviors from the past, without bias?
One decision is not just one question, but thousands. The world is filled with absolutes and functions in black and white, but the circumstances often affect the choice more than what is right or what is wrong. Rationally, in the black, he is wrong for me and although I want her, I should not have him, because he will only hurt me continuously if I allow him. Irrationally, in the white, our conversations are always brilliantly strong, yet charming and full of various tensions. Small talk becomes obsolete when I am around you, but around everyone else that seems to be the only talk I can make. Irrationally, I do not want to give anyone the chance to take that special place my heart holds for you.
What do I do?
I let myself fall in love with you.
