For the fourth time this week,
I drove down J imagining you were in the seat next to me,
Telling me how much of a nerd I was for mouthing the words to the song playing.
Bayside had always been our favorite band,
This ride did not change that.
I mouthed that you were my rock so long as I was yours and you just smiled.
I awake from my reverie.
Fourteen hours later and you’ve hardly spoken to me today.
It’s normal, though, as you’re a busy guy.
This is what I’ve been telling myself for three years.
I apologize to the voices in my head for your behaviour.
“We’ve talked about this,”
I say,
“We’re not going to try anything because of the distance.”
I sigh to myself and erase the message I’ve typed out for you.
It’s the fifth time I’ve done it this hour,
Seeing as you never responded to the last.
Last time you said you loved me was three days ago.
I told you I love you two hours ago and you called me a nerd.
“Nerd.”
I take a deep breath at the thought of the word.
I try to replace it with something different.
“Love.”
“Beautiful.”
Beautiful.
You’ve called me beautiful, right?
I scroll through our messages, looking for a time where you might have.
I only find you telling me my smile “kills” you.
Those words still make me melt, and I hate it.
I hate myself for loving you like this.
I hate myself for hating myself for loving you,
As I convince myself again,
For the hundredth time,
That you do.
I’ve been begging for a sign that you do.
One aside from your words.
“Actions speak louder than words,”
I remind myself,
And think back to an action.
What have you done?
I can’t help but wonder if the songs you wrote about me,
Loving me,
And us,
Were sent to another.
The lack of specification in said songs makes me swallow hard.
I think back to the night you told me you broke down with your friend.
You told him everything,
How you’ve loved me for years,
How you’ve never been able to do something about it.
How you tell me you date so many girls but always think of me.
How I believe you.
I’m scared, now.
Every day that we’re apart,
I can’t help but worry and doubt.
Am I just some... toy?
I can’t help wonder to myself if I am,
And I scroll through our messages.
I’m torturing myself, really.
As I scroll I reflect on the amount;
Thousands of messages collected over the past three years.
Three years--
Why would you spend that much time ‘toying’ with someone?
My heart swells,
As do tears.
I erase the message I’ve typed out to you.
That's the sixth time this hour.
The cycle will repeat until I fall asleep,
One last unsent message sitting in my palm.
I stare at the screen, waiting for my eyes to close.
They don't.
"active now"
it reads under your name.
I stare at your display picture.
For the fourth time this week, I pretend you’re staring back.
And for the... what was it?
I’ve lost count.
I pretend you’re listening and I turn off the screen.*
“Goodnight, I love you. Sweet dreams.”