When I Said ‘Hi’, I Meant ‘I Love You’

Jesse Herzog
Jesse Herzog


That’s the text I sent you, that’s always the text I send you. The one I send when I haven’t heard from you in a few days or when I’m a little too drunk on Friday night or when I’m laying in bed alone.

It’s the text that’s supposed to sound casual, like I don’t care if you respond or not, like I’m the chill laid-back girl every guy falls for in the movies.

But I don’t want to say hi.

I want to say I miss you.

That I miss how you hugged me, how I fit so perfectly underneath your arm. I miss how you’re the only one who still called me by my nickname, how you had that one crooked dimple when you smiled. I even miss how we always had to listen to that boring talk radio in your Jeep and how you could fall asleep in the middle of a conversation.

I want to say come over.

That I’d do anything for you to walk through my door right now, anything to have another night curled up beside you. That I don’t sleep anymore, my mascara-stained pillow proof of long nights remembering what we once had, what we will never have again. That waking up without you on Saturday mornings hurts so much I can barely get out of bed.

I want to say you’re the only thing I think about.

That you’re the only one I want to kiss, the only one I want to hold me when I’m sad, the only one I want to meet me at the end of the aisle. That some days I sit in my office staring at the computer screen and wonder if you’re thinking of me too, if you missed another deadline because you can’t focus on anything else.

I want to say I’ve never felt so lonely.

That I make excuses to go to your favorite bar hoping to run into you. That when I go on dates with other men, I wish it was you there instead sitting across the table.  That no one else can fill the space you left in my heart, no one else makes me feel as beautiful, as loved or as special as you did.

I want to say she isn’t right for you.

That she may be prettier and more successful and mature than me but she wouldn’t put your life in front of her own. That she doesn’t know you the way I do, doesn’t know how you secretly love the Bachelor or how you need your alone time when you’re mad. That she is a good “for now” but I could be a good “forever”.

Most of all, I want to say I still love you.

That I will always love you, no matter how much time has passed or how many people tell me to move on. That you will always have my heart, even if I no longer have yours. That I will always be there for you, whether I’m 24 or 84 or even 104.

So every time the clock says 11:11, I’ll keep wishing. Wishing you’ll come back, wishing for one more chance, wishing to hear you whisper those three words again.

And until then, until I can say I love you, I’ll just send you that text.

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