I swear you’re not a rebound. You really aren’t at all. You just met me at a very strange time in my life. People say that right? Edward Norton says that in Fight Club.
I’m feeling kind of Edward Norton-ish lately. Like there’s two of me. There’s the me that ended my relationship of five years because I wanted to be alone—to learn how to make myself happy without being dependent on someone else. But there’s also the me that broke it off because of you, because I couldn’t stomach the thought of never knowing, always wondering, playing the “what if” game.
The me that still doesn’t know how to be alone.
And now there’s you and me, and it’s great, it’s better than I imagined.
Except for me.
Except for how hollow I feel when I’m by myself in my room, drinking wine and staring at the clock, willing the minutes to pass, forcing myself to sleep. When I’m with you I’m me. I smile, I laugh, I feel lucky and giddy and young.
But I think you can sense it.
When we wake up and it’s time to go to work, I don’t want to let you leave. Because some fragment of me is terrified that I’ll never see you again. That I will never get a chance to grow out of this, and you’ll never really see me for who I am.
I think you can sense it.
I never tell you when I’m lonely, because you wouldn’t understand. You’re so independent. You’re what I aspire to be.
I want to be with you because I want to, not because I need to. Because I swear you’re not a rebound.
You just met me at a very strange time in my life.