I've tried to forget about you, you know. I mean, REALLY forget about you. I deleted your numbers, blocked you from my facebook page and blackberry messenger. I searched your name in my outlook, and deleted all our emails too. At home and at work. Excessive? Eh...maybe. But keeping all those communication roadways open in anticipation that you'll head back my way is...torture. So since I can't make you call...make you explain why you left...I can put up road blocks and chart a new direction. How long am I to expected to keep peeking down the road, hopeful to see your headlights?
And just like I said, there would be another...and just like I said I would (neck roll) I gave him your nickname too. He said all the right things...was completely dedicated to me. Matter of fact, he was everything I wished you would be. But...he wasn't you. He wasn't my Captain, my Light, my Star. So lately I've been in agony wondering why when my mind moves ahead, does my heart lag behind? Why do I still miss you so much?
Like a madwoman I pulled up an old phone bill online to find your number...I had deleted our call history from my phone in an attempt to survive such moments of weakness, but as they say: where there's a will there's a (omg, I don't believe I'm admitting this) way. I texted you that I missed our friendship. Your callous reply: "Too soon." Really, Guy? You told me you were boarding a flight then parted with "You are loved". Hushdafcukup...really? What kinda, ambiguous, non committal statement is that?
What the hell is going on with me!? I'm a THUG...not some desperate can't get man (can't keep a man, maybe...but let's not quibble over small details) spinster! One would think that I'd easily forget about what was, focus on what is...and keep it moving. Well, jerk, I can't...but I'm damn sure doing the best job I can pretending.
Okay, the truth is I didn't delete everything. I've kept the voice notes you sent of every song you sang for me. I don't even like them all! Wait, let me rephrase. You don't even sound good in all of them. Maaaaybe 4 at best. But I love them, because they represent the you that I miss...the "us" that I can't replace as hard as I try.
My FFF (fab, fly friend) says I can't look to you for closure, rather look within. But everything in me...in my heart...has me staring at that road block, still hoping you'll break through. However, the truth is...I know you went back to her. Yes, the one that cheated on you...with a basketball player. The one you lived with...spent the last 4 years with. And like Michael in The Office, I've most likely romanticized this entire relationship to mean more that it ever really was. That your time with me was merely an escape away from the woman you really loved. The reason you were such a dream...the very reason I fell in love...was because you were pretending with me in an attempt to escape the hurt of loving someone who, based on their actions, you shouldn't. Gosh...I.am.so.there.
I'll be in your city next weekend, but you know that already. I'm not going to call you, or even email you this letter, because my last attempt to reach out to you left me feeling like a hoochie groupie (and I ain't neva been nobody's groupie)...but I still have hope you will call...hope that you will still want to see me, because you miss me too. I still have hope that how you said you felt, and that the next 60 years you said we were destined to spend together is real. Either way, I have hope. But if you don't call this weekend...I hope she cheats on you with a basketball player (again). *dead face* I said I'm a thug. *mean mug*
Mom: No, we didn't. It's just a song for dramatic effect I promise :)