If I did speak I’d say, hey sweetie.
I hope you’re well.
Go ahead and tell me how much you missed me and all the reasons why you couldn’t get in contact with me like I don’t already know.
I’d wonder if he was bursting at the seams from trying to live so many different personalities at the same time during the same life but I wouldn’t pry, talking to me alone would be proof enough.
And I’m not confident but I’m convinced that it would go how it has always gone- He’d be inappropriate first, I’d play along so willingly at the start and then I’d remember I can’t have him again, I never could and I never will and I’d hate myself and him all over again.
I’d detox and give up and feel stupid and suicidal and then go fuck someone who looked exactly like him or better, just because I could. Or he could be so happy that I reached out, and we could be real friends and he could step back up to being my favorite person.
He was the last one I had.
Then I would remember that I got along okay without one for a while and be mad that I haven’t matured enough to not reverse the trajectory.
I always say that I just want him to acknowledge me but I know in my heart that won’t be enough.
He’d have to worship me too.
He’d have to be devoted to just me.
He’d have to get on his knees and beg but only because that’s what he really wants to do.
Yet I know if he really wanted to, he would.
He would do it now even if I never reach out.
Everything is seasonal. I don’t need him. I never did. He needed me.
I’m his secret and he is my vice. But I’m moving on…
And I ain’t saying shit.
My Mind, My Mood, My delicately poisoned pen... 