I was really good at dodgeball as a kid. Not much confidence with the ball, but swift as a sprite and impossible to hit. Now all I dodge are relapses and gas bill shut-off notices. I wish you had known me as a kid.
Why do I feel obligated to tell you that he and I are planning a baby? Why do I feel like you’d want to hear it from me - that you deserve to hear it from me, when you’ve made it so excruciatingly clear that you don’t care about me at all?
We loved cheap wine & Trader Joe’s brand cheese, Netflix, and TempurPedic mattress pads. We had sex anywhere we could on campus without getting caught, and enjoyed adventuring the city streets when we were wide-eyed, hungry, and sleepless. You made me ramen. You made me fall in love again. And again. But the sophomore slump set in, reality got real, you distanced yourself, and then fled. We are the college cliché.
Do you remember sitting in the dark telling bad jokes? And planning to live in space? And sending Jurassic Park pickup lines? I don’t need you to be happy and I don’t need a big commitment, please just tell me about more of your favorite movies.
One night we took pictures with my digital camera that turned out blurry; you told me, “Someday we’ll look back on these and almost be able to hear ourselves laughing.” I guess I always thought you meant we’d be looking back on them together…
I wish I was tough enough to tell you to never speak to me again, but I just wind up white-knuckle gripping the pieces of you I still get. Just like I always wish I would have ordered my own dessert but just wind up nibbling on yours.