Sometimes I wonder if you’re bored like me.

Sitting at home on a random night, caught between the comfort of your room and the stimulation of people. You once told me I could always call when I said I didn’t want to be a hypocrite, but I don’t know if that’s true anymore. It’s been a while. I wonder if you ever think about me, and if you do, whether it’s with fondness, distaste, or indifference.

By now you’ve probably figured out that I can never be the one to pick up the phone first, which is why it’s hard for me to believe we’ll ever see each other again. I wish there was a way we could just talk, and not have things get complicated, and not have to worry about you or me or anything between us.

Sometimes I think I’m strong enough, but I think of that call and that voice and the burning across my skin, and eventually I realize I’m only fooling myself. Just making excuses to see you again cause I miss you so much. I’m not yet used to the fact that I can’t share these songs, these experiences, this happiness with you, and it’s left me feeling incomplete.

Even now it feels like there was so much left unsaid. Like my words were always inadequate to the burden of my heart cause I was never able to convince you of how special you were and how much I loved you. But time is teaching me that you knew, and that nothing would ever have been enough.

Not long ago, I realized it’s not just you I can’t stop thinking about, it’s all of my past, from insignificant instances to major events. If only you weren’t one of the only things worth remembering, and I wasn’t trying so desperately to forget.

3 comments

  1. Your writing strikes a chord with me, but unfortunately for all the wrong reasons. You have nothing but pure intentions, I wish I was half the man you are.

    We work together and we were both married. It was a brief affair, and we returned to colleagues, rarely speaking. I wanted to share my thoughts with her, but I couldn’t, and it made me feel hollow too. All I know is that this gut wrenching, guilt ridden experience will stay with me forever.

    I too desperately want to forget her, but mine is a penance, a constant reminder of my own failings that I have to live with forever.

    • Why did you want to share your thoughts with her? Was it for the sake of closure? What would you say if you could?

      • For that brief period we confided everything with each other. I’m a fairly private person, and she was the first person I could confide in and not feel judged, I could be me. It was a liberating experience.

        I don’t think it would be for closure, but knowing how she feels now would probably help. Being part of her life, then becoming just an outside observer is hard, but I have no-one to blame but myself.

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