It’s been thirteen days, but who is counting? Certainly not me. Okay, busted. I’m totally counting. I just want to know why. How are we so different in this respect? Every time a text comes through, I get my hopes up it’s from you. I went from “it’s not a date” to “I so want it to be a date” faster than I could blink.
Are you into me? Not into me? Honestly, I cannot fucking tell. Or did you just get caught up in nostalgia, thinking I would be one way and discovering I wasn’t even close? You were eerily accurate on so many things I tried to deny. Yes, I’m lonely. I have been for more than a third of my life. Yes, I’m scared. I’m terrified I don’t fit with any person and I’ll always be alone. Yes, I’m insecure. I never feel like I’m good enough. I was conditioned to feel that way, even though there is a part of me that knows there is nothing wrong with me, and I am enough and will be enough when the right person comes along.
So, if you know all of these things about me, then you should know the last thing you should be doing is ignoring me. All this time passing without any sort of communication causes my mind to wander, and I don’t like the places those thoughts go to.
I’m a social butterfly. I enjoy conversation with other people. On the other hand, I also value private time, but there are very few times where I will cease all communication with those trying to reach me. Two weeks plus? Certainly not.
And so I wait. And wonder. And get angrier and pricklier and find myself asking why I seem to attract the same type of person over and over who can be affectionate and communicative one second and a concrete barrier the next. It’s infuriating to me, and I honestly don’t know if any of this is worth it anymore.
Make me believe it is.