It’s 3 am and my phone dings. My heart lurches in my throat and I curse myself for not having it on silent. Not because it woke me up, but because I already know it’s her. I know that it’s her and that my fingers will betray me, just like they do every night. This night, I say that it will be different. I tell myself I was never this guy. I watched my father disintegrate before my very eyes. I stood through my traumas. I held my own heart night after night. I never asked for anyone to stitch back together my broken pieces. I always did it on my own. I was the strong one, even when at my weakest.
But now, in my bed, texting back nonsense to a girl who tells me time and time again she will never give me what I willingly give her, I am a shell of my former self. I lie to my friends when they ask the last time I talked to her. I repeatedly have epiphanies and announce with complete certainty, “I’m done.” I throw “fuck hers” around and put on my damn freakum shirt. I dance until my lips on her forehead aren’t even a memory anymore. I dance until her name is just a name.
And then she reaches out. I think it must mean something, that I must mean something. And I go back on every promise. I go back on every word I’ve ever written. I convince myself she has to feel this too. I allow for her excuses.
“She’s not ready.”
“She’s not over him.”
“She’s going to realize what she has one day.”
I plead with my own ego. I play Darshan Raval songs with the little dignity I have left. I look at this crumbling figure back in the mirror. I can’t even remember when I used to love him so much(myself).
I used to love myself so much. Dhaval lies to me and tells me, one day, she’s going to see me for everything I am. I won’t be her emotional pillow. Her selfish comfort. I am placeholder. I am temptation, something to ease the lonely. I am a guy she never wanted to begin with.
But the truth is, I can’t figure out how to make any of this sound pretty, or artistic. This is irrational, and dirty. This is ugly and a time I will look back on and feel pity for the foolish 24 year old man I was. I am so goddamn lost and keep hoping her body will be the compass that leads me the right way. Her eyes are lighthouses, but her hands sirens. I am shipwreck.
But before I know it, it’s 3 am again and my phone dings.
It’s her text!
Next blog will be out soon.Desai Thoughts MEdia.
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this hits hard!!!
Readers like you!!! Thanks