I want to talk to you, but I refuse to be the only person that tries. I don’t want to give you any more power over me.
I’m not allowed to text you. I don’t allow myself to check your social media. I’m not allowed to look through our old conversations or imagine what would happen if we ran into each other.
But I break all my own rules.
I understand that I should be over you by now, but I can’t get used to the idea of referring to you in the past tense. I still want you in my future.
I keep dreaming about you, late at night and during long drives in my car. You’re lodged in the back of my mind.
Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back from texting you. I want to know how you’re doing. I want to know what you’ve been doing. Who you’ve been hanging around with.
Most of all, I want you to remember that I exist. I want you to see my name pop up on your phone screen, so I know that I actually crossed your mind that day. I want you to relive the memories that I live every damn night. I want you to miss me.
You must not, though. If you aren’t reaching out to me, then it means you’ve wiped me from your mind. You’ve forgotten how much fun we used to have. Or maybe I’m glorifying our past. Maybe you never liked me as much as I thought you did.
Either way, I know it’s only a matter of time until I crack and contact you. Until I break my streak of acting like you’re a stranger.
Of course, I don’t know what texting you is going to accomplish. It’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to magically make you care. I know that you don’t. You probably never did.
That’s why I keep telling myself to wait. Wait another day. Wait another week. Wait until next month, at least. Keep waiting until the waiting stops feeling painful — but it never stops.
I always wonder when you last checked my social media, which pictures you’ve seen. I wonder if there’s been a day when you wanted to talk to me, but thought better of it. I wonder if you regret letting me go or if you feel like you did the right thing.
I wonder what the hell you think of me, if you think of me at all.
It’s so hard to stop myself from texting you, because I miss you like mad. But I’m trying my hardest to make sure you never know that.