She stood there staring at the words on the screen. Her fingers rushed clumsily over the keyboard to tap out some retort. Paragraphs written and erased. Daydreams about conversations that they should have face to face, but wouldn’t seem to overcrowd her mind. What could she say? Would any of it make a difference? No. The answer was always no.
Thinking back to the last time she saw him and tried desperately to not care was a memory that seem to scratch at the back of her mind daily. It was a faded memory, nothing tangible, nothing to really cling to except his words.
They drew her in and she couldn’t help but to feel something. Was it love? Was it just shared passion for words? Now, she knew he would be like the others and yet nothing like them at all.
He would just be words on the screen. Words that maybe she’d give life to in a character and she could imagine how he would act in her imaginary world. This made her incredibly sad though, because it was her narcissistic ways that made her pull strings like a puppet master, controlling the situation, the conversation. Dominating the attention and jealous if it faltered.
There was a sickness in this love story. A sickness that she would never quite get a handle over. It would rule over her as her master and leave a devastation of broken hearts and strings. She couldn’t regain control. She couldn’t even maintain friendship. She watched them all leave her one by one.
Deported, dead, and distant.
She scratches at the wounds, watching it fester. Welcoming the pain because it’s something that can be felt. She knows how wrong it is.
She gives in. She responds when she shouldn’t. She’s angry because she wanted the last words and he wouldn’t let her have them.
Truthfully, he was right. She does need to stay because somewhere she has the capacity to love. It might not always be an honest love. It might feel more like a routine, but there should be peace in what’s known. Peace in what’s real, peace in what IS tangible.
Forget trying to hang on, despite loving him back. She lets go even when it looks like she’s still reaching out for a hand to save her. She isn’t going to look back again. She’s going to turn around and give in to the peace. The calm.
Letting go of everything else.
Broken and desperate to feel alive again, she picks up the pieces and steps into the light.
“ I think about you all the time though.”
Because I love you.