Sometimes I think about calling him (he who left a gaping hole in my life, my heart, my happiness). Its been 2 months since we spoke. Not because of ill-will. Only because it hurts so much. I don’t know how a phone conversation could once put me on cloud nine, and now it feels like pins and needles of pain. lots of them. think 360 degree porcupine party shower.
In my head, I practice what I would say. I compose short and sweet emails that might make him miss me. He’s so predictable I can hear his responses coated in country drawl and hip-hop slang. I can even hear the tempo of his words and the smile he cracks. The conversation doesn’t go so far. We get past the “Hi, stranger.” and I ask how he’s doing. “Same old, same old.” He’s working out and working too much at the office. He’s busy making muscles and money. He asks me, “What you been up to, Shawty?” Which is much better than “How are you?” Because that would lead me to remember the giant gaping emptiness in my life that I have been working hard to ignore. While everything else in life is doing ok, probably wonderful, even. I can’t seem to shake the scar of my heart being torn out.