Until We Meet Again

21. writer in the house

The next two weeks fly by fast. I've been preparing for finals and have barely spent any time with Delilah since our date. Partly because of my exams, but mainly because she hasn't really reached out. We've exchanged texts here and there and had one FaceTime call but that's it. Is this what happens before your partner breaks up with you?

I know I might sound dramatic and I don't want to be one of those obsessive couples that doesn't allow each other to lead their own lives. It's just different for us now. It isn't the usual.

And then she finally messages me, asking, "let's talk soon? When are you available? It's important."

She makes it sound like we're scheduling a formal business meeting. But I know that means I might finally be getting some answers. Maybe why she's mad, maybe why she moved away.

I know I'm weird for still being caught up on why they all moved away, but it used to be a mystery that always confused me. They had the perfect life. Did they manage to find a life that was more perfect elsewhere?

I always wanted to know if I had done something wrong back then. I thought I had so much influence on Delilah, and that thought almost makes me want to laugh now. I ask Nina what she thinks with a text, and she tells me that I might be overthinking this.

It wouldn't be shocking if I am.

But what do I want?

It's a question I've been asking myself a lot, ever since Rowan brought it up. I finally found out the name of the stranger that called me out on Nina's floor when I started paying attention in my sociology class, something I did for the first time in the semester now that the final for it is coming up. Unrelated, but I think that's something that's also changed about me a lot. Ever since Delilah came back, I haven't been as dedicated to my work.

I turned into my 12 year old who always put her best friend first and often ignored schoolwork just to hang out with her. I'm 12 again, that's great.

I try to keep in mind though that it isn't just because of her. I've been putting off my assignments to go to parties, make new friends like Nina, and live life. I know it wouldn't make my parents happy, and it isn't really benefiting my future self, but it might be a good change. I just need to make a better balance.

I respond to my girlfriend's texts, and we end up deciding to meet later today here in my dorm. At least I don't have to travel anywhere, but it's also sooner than expected. As if there can be a specific timeline to follow for everything.

At that moment, I decide to look for something to write on. I find my thick blue journal in the drawers of my desk, and it appears dusty with the reminder that I haven't added anything to in a while. I like writing in it whenever I'm stressed, like right now. Everything feels so uncertain. The cold weather, my grades, my girlfriend.

I make several entries about this messy place in my life, unsure of what's coming next. I brought a few of my old journals with me when I came to college, finding them to be an interesting memory to come back to every once in a while. The first journal I started was in 7th grade, before Delilah moved away. I remember she once caught me writing it, and tried to take it from me.

She wanted to read what was in it. I think she just wanted to judge it. She thought she could write so eloquently and way better than me, when it was merely a journal for me to express my truths. My fictional stories were in my mind, not written anywhere at that point. She wanted to control what I was putting down in there though. Or, at the very least, she just desired to know what was in it.

She once went a week without talking to me after I refused to let her read out of my journal. She often did that when I made her mad. She would just ignore me. Sometimes she would have her parents fund her own sudden vacations to different parts of the world, and her parents would agree as they thought a 13-year old was responsible enough for that. Her favorite place was LA, and when she would come back, she would always sweetly hand me a souvenir and act like nothing had happened.