Dear your name here,
I lay in bed in the dark, besides the light from my laptop screen. I’m reading the same CNN articles and baseball stories I read earlier this evening – anything to keep me busy. You’ve been on my mind. I told you that and I miss you but I know it didn’t make anything better. I’m disappointed to; I never wanted to be someone that let you down. It’s not that I didn’t like you, I just didn’t feel it – it was something I had to think about, something I had to try to feel. I don’t expect you to understand. I’ll be honest; sometimes, I don’t understand it myself.
I pull strands of the hair you left behind off my favorite pillow – the one I’d let you steal from me on the nights you’d stay over. I remember how quickly you stripped down the first time you slept over. We didn’t do anything but kiss but I couldn’t help admiring how adamant you are about not sleeping in clothes. I joked that you glowed in the dark – you did have a glow about you.
I’m hard to read. The perils of an extrovert, I suppose; it’s hard to tell what’s flirting and what’s just friendly. It’s really a shame our butts don’t light up like fireflies or there wasn’t some specific call like birds have to show each other we’re interested. I always find myself in positions where I led someone astray; either I unintentionally flirted with someone or someone I try flirting with notices I go out of my way to talk to others, too.
This week I’ve hung out with a few different girls, but only as friends. I know I confused at least one of them as I read the text message asking about my “intentions,” and whether or not I want to take her on a date. It’s funny how quickly things change when you’re singe. I’m not sure my heads on straight yet, after you, and that’s what I respond with. I think about that cop out and whether or not it’s a misleading no. God, I don’t want to be misleading.
There’s some bullshit fairytale I’m searching for; I’m not happy with anyone I have to try with – I want to know, I want to not be able to help myself. I’m scared I’m too jaded for that to happen. I’m scared I’ve squandered relationships that had the potential to save me from that. I wonder about you. I drop the strands of hair off the edge of the bed instead of the trash so that they might strike up your memory again.
Find more love stories in Gully Zucca’s new Thought Catalog Book here.