I know, I saw that word, those four letters. I even remembered the time you saw my text. It was a lot later than when I sent it.
You left me on read, and I tried not to keep checking my phone, to not have it by my side, but you knew what you were doing.
Or did you? Did you not know that by not responding right away or even at all if would leave me contemplating?
Contemplating whether or not you liked me or if I was just some sort of phase, a quarantine buddy you sometimes talked to over video chat while you described in detail what you wished you could do to me if we were able to see each other. I sat in silence, trying to imagine a world where you fit into it.
You left me on read, but you had no problem opening my Snapchats, because it was easier to not have to worry about replying when the message went away like that.
You left me on read and it made me want to text my ex. Because at least with him I knew what I was going to get without feeling disappointed in the end. So I did it.
You left me on read and it made me wonder if you did it to other people too. Or was I the exception?
You left me on read and it made me angry. Angry that you would do that when you said you would be there for me anytime to talk. You knew how bad my anxiety has been since all of this started.
You left me on read and I felt stupid. Stupid for wanting to cry, stupid for thinking I was crazy for feeling some type of emotion when you couldn’t care less.
You left me on read and it made me want to text you again. But then I would just have to see another message go without a reply.
You left me on read and it made me go back. Back to all the times we would be up late texting each other when we first started dating. All the long paragraphs we sent to get to know each other in between going on dates. We tried to fill in the gaps, except now they couldn’t be more far apart.
You left me on read and it made me reconsider all the times I wanted to text you and tell you about something good. Because you rarely initiated the first move. I just thought you were too busy.
You left me on read so I drank what was left of my wine. Because I figured if I couldn’t let go of the pain, at least I could numb it.
You left me on read and it made me think of how everyone I told about you thought you were great. How much they saw an improvement in me and an upgrade from the string of other guys I talked about.
You left me on read, and maybe I’m being insane for even caring, but it hurt. I’m still human and I have feelings, and no person wants to feel like they don’t matter.
You left me on read and still haven’t texted me back. At least this time I’ll be smart enough not to respond.
Then you’ll know how it feels to be left on read.
It sucks, doesn’t it?