Two and a half months. That’s all the longer I talked with him. Sure we texted through the app for a month, then via text but when we were texting it wasn’t just a text here and there it was for hours. I’m still not sure why I’m so hung up on it and can’t get over it.
A good friend reminded me that the last two texts I’ve sent were statements, not questions, and he does have a lot going on, maybe he’s just super busy, sure.
Am I holding out that he will text me eventually? Maybe. Okay, yes. But the realist in me is Maury Povich positive that it’s a done deal. I wonder if this is why the tears come so close, almost start then stop. As if they are holding out like “what if”.
I’ve re-read our texts, its stupid, because here I laughing, smiling, and then big ole crocodile tears welling up. Part of me should just delete them, part of me wants to keep them.
It seemed different, natural, easy. Maybe that’s why it’s hard. Evenings seem a bit lonely, because I keep grabbing for my phone thinking it’s on silent and that I might have a text, when I turned my ringer on when I got to the parking lot after work. I feel stupid for feeling like this, hell two months is nothing. Absolutely no one knew of him until a few days before I went to hang out with him, and only two people did. One wasn’t really even on purpose but she would have read about it here.
I don’t feel dumb for my feelings because Bobby Bones always says “your feelings are never wrong” but it still doesn’t feel right to be this broken, lost, whatever the word is after such a short time. Unexplainable.