He was pulling away, I could feel it, but it wasn’t devastating. It was like I had a small leak. I wasn’t flayed open; I had a ripped a few stitches.
I was used to the heart-stabbing pain of heartache. Of feeling like my lungs were gone. Loss in extreme. In stark juxtaposition, I wasn’t at all familiar with this understated melancholy. A dark strip of poison under the current. Glance quickly, and it was just a shadow. It was easy to miss, but it was a slow feeling of losing air. Everything moved sluggishly. The silver lining was the first to go. Because, no, he wasn’t all consuming love. He wasn’t even love. He was just... someone who made me smile.
Maybe the problem is that I’m f*cking needy. Maybe the problem is that I’m neurotic. Maybe the problem is actually both of those problems together, which is, obviously, a great combination. Needy to the point of needing attention every day. Neurotic enough to go through every reason why I am not getting attention. Neurotic enough to laser in on the worst of those possibilities.
This was all in my head. I know this, now, after having too many confusing conversations with him that swirled around and around. All our words went down the drain, and--oh--there's that empty feeling again. It's hard to reconcile how I feel: I wished something would happen, even though anything and everything with him won't happen. It won't happen.
But, see, it did happen, for a brief moment. An epic flash of lightning that preceded the thunder, it blinded me and disappeared. As quickly as it came, it was gone, and I was left to fumble in the darkness that was once familiar. Now, I could only wait for the thunder, and hope it treated me with love.