"If you want to talk to me, don't be afraid to come up to me."
You said that on Wednesday. Today's Saturday. I've thought about those words a million times since them- and reread my response back to you twice as much.
At first, I was frustrated. OF COURSE I want to talk to you. I was honest that day in the car when I begged and pleaded and admitted that I would take anything you could give me, even if it wasn't anything much at all. And plus, YOU broke up with ME, so if anyone should do the initiating it would make sense that it would be you...any interaction instigated on my behalf could be misconstrued as being desperate or being in denial. But God do I want it. Every time I see you it feels like there's a magnetic weight anchored in my chest pulling me towards you. And every time I have to dig my heels into the ground and resist. Because it's what you want. It's what you asked for. I'm giving you what you asked for.
"What I'm asking for you won't give me." You said that the day you left. I'm trying to give it to you, because I love you. Because I'm so desperately in love with you. So much that I'm killing myself and watching my heart rebreak daily in hopes that you might be happy. So I'm giving you space. And as I said, the ball is in your court.
But tonight, on my lonely drive to this party that I'm going to only for you, I'm realizing that maybe you'll stay on your side of the court the entire summer and never cross into mine. I had sent that thinking you might, at some point, realize this is a mistake. Or even realize that you just missed our conversations and want to talk. Save me from swallowing my pride for the millionth time since that fateful day and talk to me first so I don't have to.
But you haven't...and maybe you won't. Maybe every ounce of love you felt for me has dissipated into thin air, as invisible as vapor. Maybe it was wishful thinking imaging a scenario in which you talk to me first, even if it is about something as inconsequential as the weather. Like I've said, I would take anything.
But maybe you're not willing to give anything at all. Maybe all you can give is nothing.
If that's the case, I really won't survive this. I won't. My heart and head have been warring since the day you left, but in this, they can agree: I won't survive this.
YOU ARE READING
The Second Chapter
RomansaMy love, Six months ago, sitting in your bed in England, wrapped up in your arms so much so that I couldn't tell where I ended and you began, you gave me "The First Chapter"- a book you had personally authored, had bound into hard cover and legally...
