I Think This Is The Part Where I’m Supposed To Say I Care

snow
Jessica Fadel

I think this is the part where we’re supposed to lock eyes in a crowded place, and then everything around us blurs and Sam Smith swells and it’s like we’re the only people in the room. Probably somewhere stereotypical like Grand Central or like, Westlake since it’s 10 days until Christmas and everything is aesthetically very much on point and the scene is practically set for an overly dramatic reunion.

I think this is the part when I’m supposed to see your name come across my phone and my heartbeat is supposed to race. I’m supposed to have some sort of physical reaction that says deep down, “Look. You still miss him. Look. He still thinks about you. Look. LOOK. Why aren’t you looking?” I’m supposed to have an existential crisis; a complete breakdown where I rip out all of my feelings and splay them everywhere to analyze every innocuous detail and every little thought because WHO KNOWS WHAT THIS MEANS?!

I think this is the part where it’s supposed to mean something. Or where I’m at least supposed to want it to.

I think this is the part where I’m supposed to forgive and forget. Where I’m supposed to say, “Let’s not focus on the past, let’s talk about the future. Let’s find a future. Do you want a future? I always have. Why aren’t we talking about the future??” This is supposed to be the part where when she asks me if I’ve heard from you I don’t admit to blowing you off. Where when they ask me where you’re at, immediately I know the answer and I’m not checking Instagram because I have no idea. Where I say I still check up on you, where I say I still worry about you, where I say I never stopped, where I say I never will.

I think this is the part where I’m supposed to care. Where I’m supposed to bend. Where I’m supposed to fold in on myself and melt and admit I still miss you and say things like “I could never forget the sound of your voice or the way your sheets smell. Where I’m supposed to cave and give in and admit sometimes I wish when I reached out there was a you at the end instead of an empty space. Where I’m supposed to say I still give a shit and I couldn’t quit you if I tried and I still think about you.

But the thing is, as much I think that’s supposed to be this part, it isn’t.

This isn’t the part where I say I still care about you.

This is the part where I’m really, completely, totally 100% sure I don’t. TC mark

Kendra Syrdal

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