Hello, can you hear me?

Are you here?

Dear Person,

It has been 42 days since you last wrote to me. And before you pretend to misunderstand, I do mean text. It has also been 42 days since you left my triple message hanging, which, for the record, was not my proudest moment, but also not entirely unjustified.

In case you’re wondering, I did not stop texting because of shame. Shame packed its bags around day 36. I stopped because it became embarrassingly clear that you had decided, either carefully or carelessly, to stop responding. And neither option required further participation from me.

I hope you are well. I mean that. Not in a dramatic, “I hope you suffer” kind of way. Just… well. Because I care about people. Unfortunately, you are still included in that category.

I also hope, in your time away, you’ve realized that you are not perfect, and that disappearing on people is, at best, unkind. I’m not mad. Not really. Maybe a little. Small mad. The kind that sits quietly and pretends it isn’t there.

Still, I would like to understand. “I need a break” is such a fragile excuse. A break from what, exactly? You make it sound like I was heavy. I wasn’t. I am, in fact, quite delightful. Light, even. I was supposed to be easy for you. I was supposed to be… good.

I think that’s what bothers me.

Because I miss you. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Three months and ten days is not nothing. It felt like something. It felt like a lot. At least to me. I keep wondering if it ever felt that way to you, or if I just… filled in the blanks too generously.

Did you mean what you said when you left? That it wasn’t enough? Or was that just the neatest sentence you could find to close the door?

There’s a version of this where I find you, look you in the eye, and ask you why. You’d say something devastating and honest, and I’d cry in a way that is both cinematic and deeply embarrassing. It would be satisfying, in a tragic sort of way.

But I won’t do that.

I am trying, very hard, to keep what remains of my dignity intact.

So instead, I will ask you the quieter questions, the ones that have been sitting with me:

What film has wrecked you lately? What song makes you feel understood? What are you obsessed with right now? What do you love that has nothing to do with what you do?

You don’t have to answer. You haven’t so far.

Still, I thought I’d ask.

Signed,
An anxious avoidant who is, annoyingly, a softie underneath it all.

Disclaimer: I just wanted to write something a little relatable.

Photo by Stefano Pollio on Unsplash