Because I’m going to miss you. Because you’re going to pop into my mind on a rainy Sunday evening when Bon Iver is humming in the background and I’ve poured myself a tall glass of wine and a whiff of your old cologne catches me suddenly off guard – lingering in the apartment like an unwanted house guest who was never invited to stay.
Please delete my number. Because I’m going to want to call you when I apply for that job you always said that I should go for, or cut my hair in that way I never dared to or get that dog we always talked about getting and don’t know who to text its eager picture to. I’m going to want to call you when the Bills win and when the last snow melts and when each long, wine-saturated night draws to a close and I wish that it were still you I was on my way home to.
Please delete my number – because I didn’t want to end up here. Because the word “Maybe” is the slowest form of torture that you possibly could have settled on, dragging out a hope that died long ago despite your stark refusal to bury it. Because maybe doesn’t mean, “This may happen.”
It means, “I am too fearful to go but not strong enough to stay.”
It means, “I’ll miss you but not enough to be with you.”
It means, “I love you but not quite enough to stick around and fight.”
Please delete my number – because I don’t want to delete you. Because I want you with a certainty that you will perhaps never possess. Because I do not have to think twice about whether I would like to answer your text messages or pick up your phone calls. Because I’m sure. Because I do not love people halfway and that’s where you and I differ. I don’t want the occasional phone call. I don’t want to play your tired-out game.
Please delete my number because I’m not going to settle for your maybes. I want concrete. I want definite. I want people who call when they say they will and show up when they plan to. I don’t want to spend my life waiting for and wasted on a person who can only love halfway. I do not want your texts, late at night that say,
“I miss you” or
“I’m sorry” or
“I just need a little bit more time.”
Please delete my number – because I’m deleting yours. And you can find someone new to text your maybes to.
Confession #5944: Why do I always feel like I’m disappointing the people closest to my heart? Why do I always feel like I am not enough and that I could be replaced in just a snap? Why do I always feel like being happy today means being sad the next day? Why do I feel like I don’t deserve all the beautiful things I have? Please, please, please tell me why.
