Your name is still listed under my contacts. It would only take two seconds to type out a message and another two seconds for it to reach you. It would be so easy. So simple. But I won’t do it. I miss you like hell, but I refuse to text you.
It’s not my responsibility to keep our relationship alive.
As much as I miss you, I don’t want you in my life if you don’t give a shit about me. And you clearly don’t, because if you did, then you’d be the one to text me. I know you could be sitting there saying the same thing, but I don’t care. Why should I be the one to put my heart on the line when you’re just as capable of picking up your phone and typing out a message?
I’m afraid to find out how you’re doing.
I love you, so I don’t want to hear about how depressed you are now that I’m gone. But I love you, so I don’t want to find out that you’re living happily ever after with some woman who isn’t me. No matter what news you have for me, it’ll kill me to hear it.
Texting you wouldn’t change a thing.
Even if I texted you, even if I rekindled our friendship and the fire hidden inside of it, nothing would come of it. Maybe we’d make plans we could pretend to be excited about and then cancel them at the last second. Maybe we’d actually follow through on those plans and kiss a few times. But it would all end the same. It would end with us losing touch, once again.
I can’t stand the thought of not getting an answer.
What if I actually put aside my dignity and wrote out a sentimental text message that you ended up ignoring? You’ve already hurt me by leaving me and by losing touch with me. I can’t stand the thought of you hurting me once again, of reopening ancient wounds that should’ve been healed by now, especially over the phone.
You’re not worth the trouble.
If I made contact with you, then it would officially be impossible for me to move on. It’s hard enough to forget about how happy we were while you’re out of sight. If I let you back into my life, if I let you remind me of all of the inside jokes and sexual tension we used to share, then I’d ruin the tiny amount of progress I’ve made getting over you.
The person I miss doesn’t exist anymore.
You’re not the same person who used to dance around in my living room and make love to me on the couch. If you were, then we’d still be together. Now, you’re the person who shattered my heart. Who made me scream into a pillowcase. Who reduced me into the moping mess that I swore I’d never become. I don’t like the person you are now. I like the one that’s long gone.
I have no idea what I’d say to you.
I wouldn’t have to say that I missed you. The text alone would insinuate that for me. So then what would I say? That I wish things would’ve ended differently? That I miss sleeping with you? That I’ve been crying myself to sleep every night since you’ve left? Admitting those things wouldn’t make me feel any better, which is why I’m going to put down my phone. My silence says enough.