Sometimes I truly believe in the power that thinking about someone can evoke. Those shit motivationals about positive thinking, and what you put out, you get back kinda stuff. The feel-good post on Pinterest that endlessly does the rounds on my feed suggesting that if you’re laying awake thinking about someone, they are laying awake thinking about you. The sorts of things we tell ourselves to not feel so alone.
But, it’s true. I have been thinking about you lately. I had wondered what you would think about this latest adventure I’ve started but will likely not finish. I tried to guess how hard you’d laugh at the idea of me living in a way that is so close to your own roots and history and so far from mine. A lifestyle where you are so at home and I am so out of place. He even looks a bit like you, just a little. Maybe it’s the big hat.
And then there you were. In my inbox again after months of silence. We’re good at this now, not speaking, where we used to be so bad. That same familiar rush at the sight of your name. You thought I’d blocked you from this site. That’s kinda funny to me that you assume you’re so special when the truth was the site was hidden from everyone.
Too many skeletons. Too many sordid tales the media would love to get hold of. But not you, you’ve hardly begun to rot.
But you still read it and that makes me curious. To see if you still get mentioned? To see if I finally moved on? To see if I’m vulnerable enough again to start back up that insane cycle, of gasping for air as you fucked me and then gasping to breathe as I sobbed alone in my bed. Perhaps you’re just bored. I know I am. Old habits and all that.
And perhaps in writing this, you got exactly what you wanted; to know that you were on my mind, and I was on yours.