Off The Team

10/02/24 

When he sends me texts asking how I’m doing, my heart perks up at the idea they might be evidence of him still caring for me. 

What is it really that prompts him to send those texts?

Boredom? A moment of loneliness?  Some kind of social politeness?

Am I falling for some weird mind game that gives him kicks? 

Do the kisses at the end actually mean kisses or is he using them like a sort of full stop? 

I doubt he has the slightest notion that I actually want to message him a thousand times a day. That’s 999 more texts composed in head than actually sent.

I continue to respect his expressed desire for space by not bombarding him with every little thought, feeling, and occurrence throughout my days. 

Then I get to worrying that he’ll think I don’t care or miss him because I never contact him. 

But I do care; I care so very, very much. 

I want to hear the tiny details of his days.

I want to be outraged alongside of him about shit that goes down.

I want to share the fun of the daft stuff.

I want to cheer him on, pep him up, be on his team. 

I don’t think I’m allowed into the stadium anymore, never mind be part of the team.   

If I’m brutally honest with myself, I wasn’t allowed on his team for quite a long time before he left.

That makes me cry. A lot.

JP