I saw you a week ago. But it feels more like a month.
Sunday night I texted you around eight saying I hope you had a good weekend and that your foot was okay. You replied a few minutes later with question marks. It brought me straight away to a sad place. And as soon as it did I made motion to get out of it.
I fought away from that place with a little bit of anger and… it worked. I apoligized and kept doing what I was doing before I texted you.
Next thing I know, my phone jingles and a few jumbles of texts roll in.
‘ just cone iva and say i’m an idoit. ‘
I stare at the screen.
I don’t know what to put.
So I put nothing.
And 2 minutes later, the phone is jingling for longer and you are calling and I pick up and my theory is correct. You have been drinking.
You’d like for me to come over. “We can make nachos “, you say.
Because you know that’s one of my favourite eats. And when you realize you don’t have nachos you say, ‘but hey, the store does!’ and I say ‘ its Sunday silly’.
And then, ” Let’s have chips and dip! I have some!”
And you do and I don’t.
Because I am unable to come over. I would. If I could.
We talk for 21 minutes and I go through waves of sadness- at the stuff you’re saying, your tone. And I’m trying to build muscle in the process of the conversation so that I have enough strength to push it off of me and you can sense it and inside whirls the mass of
” I’ll be okay without this. ”
Being talked down to doesn’t feel that great. Specially when it’s done purposefully indirectly. Specially when you’ve changed and are changing and don’t need to hear negative things that happened in the past. What makes it even sadder is the fact that I know you know this. And I know you know you shouldn’t be like this.
I love you, my soulmate.
Get yourself figured out so I can show you the best me there ever was.