Here I go overanalyzing everything. I can’t just, have a time. It’s gotta be hours. Then minutes. Then seconds. Freezing every one of them until I confuse myself into a vortex of insanity. Is that how I act? Is this why every time I like someone they stop initiating? Because I act like that? Or, what? I don’t get this. I just don’t, I guess. It’s one of those things. I felt like maybe. Maybe. There were chances. Times. Opportunities. For him to… I dunno. Ask for more. Do more. Did you want my number or something? Why bring up a ton of social platforms and then not ask to connect with me? I mean. Congratulations on your social media platforms, I guess…? But, why apologize about a picture? Why, sorry. I should get rid of that. I literally do not care. I mean. Yeah, okay. I do. Clearly. It did make me feel a little uncomfortable. Because I DO like you. I asked you to hang out. I messaged you and went out of my way and kept doing so. I wanted to talk to you and get to know you and find out more. Was it just a reflex of apologizing for things all the time? Or because you know I do like you? And knew that it might sting a bit? Or…. Dammit. There I go again.
We sat next to each
other and I got up and found my friend and I told her, “you’ll never guess who I
sit next to now!” and she seemed disinterested. I tried to keep being
enthusiastic. In the end I was just reading things on the computer and making
any excuse I could to walk away. I think nerves were getting the best of me.
Plus he was talking to other people. Like I existed, but outside of a bubble.
I was cleaning out a
closet. I found a bag full of stuff. I set it aside. It was just his birthday.
I kept finding random stuff. I thought of him and all the indifference there
just made me… I couldn’t pick out the right shirt to wear. I wanted to wear a
nice sweater, I just couldn’t decide. I was cold. I wanted to make something
happen. An outfit that would make me comfortable. The closet was still pretty
empty. Just belts and strings and pictures. Things that weren’t mine. There
wasn’t a sweater that was mine. I picked up some old band t-shirts. Bands I
didn’t know. Sizes too big. I didn’t know what to do. I threw them in the bag
with the rest of it. With the birthday for someone out of reach. I’ll keep it
in the bag until he comes back.
I keep dreaming about him. I don’t want to. But, I keep
dreaming about him. About how he is just there like a light fixture. But, one I
don’t need or want. Something that is just in the background. I can’t keep
ignoring it, because it needs to go. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. It’s got
to leave. He’s got to leave, right? But, he keeps coming up in my dreams. I
wake up and I get this feeling. Like it makes me alarmed. Sick. Distraught.
Like I’m exhausted and sick of waking up like this. I just want to sleep and
get through it and not think about it. But I also know I need to keep dreaming
what I dream. That it will come and go, whether I want to or not. Whether it
makes sense now or not. I need it. I need to dream, to get rid of that feeling.
Those feelings. Wrap up those parts of me. The ones holding me back so I can
get back to what I want. To move forward. To make anything happen. To just…
move.
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