Mikey

It’s been 4 days since we last spoke. 

 The first thing I remember about seeing you was your curly hair. It’s rare to see people with hair like mine. Immediately I realized how sweet you looked. You wouldn’t disappoint. You sat right next to me and for the rest of the night we couldn’t stop talking. It was so easy with you. I told you too much. I called you Mike even though you were introduced to me as Mikey. I was drinking but not as drunk as our friends. Some of it is hazed over but the feeling is clear. You amazed me from day one. We spent more and more time together, talking for hours on end. Talking until the sun came up. The more I learned the more I realized you are the person I was always waiting for. You are better than the man I dreamt of. The moment I knew my feelings changed was the day we went to the mall. I slipped on a forest green turtleneck over my tank top. You looked at me like I was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. I felt seen. I felt moved by your looks. I felt inspired by your work ethic. When you first spooned me at night, my heart jumped. When you first told me how you felt about me, my body came alive. I laughed from the pure bliss of knowing you felt the same way too. I thought I ruined us when I told you, drunkenly, I was in love with you. Maybe I told you more, you would never say. A week later you said it back. “I have something weird to tell you, like really weird.” You broke up with me in the same spot you told me you had feelings for me. I mentioned that during the fourth hour heartbreak. “I hate that.” You don’t have to sleep there. A week ago we talked for 7 hours. Today I sit here, without you. Waiting for your call. Waiting to hear that you fixed it all and we can be together again. I am counting the days until then. It’s only been four days without you. I’ll keep counting. I’ll keep hoping. If day 76 rolls around and no word, maybe I’ll be fine. Maybe by then I’ve stop counting. 

Eight days.

 It’s hard not to be mad at you right now. It’s hard not to question everything we went through. Sifting through the memories trying to pin point what went wrong. It’s not me it’s you. I can’t help but feel like I must have done something. I feel like I was not enough for you. I _was_ not enough for you. It isn’t fair you told me you loved me and that you’ll miss me. I wanted to hear it. I could’ve begged for some sort of recognition that we were something grand. Something outstanding. I sit here, hands tingling from my hang over, wanting to cry. I want to feel that sadness. I don’t feel much of anything. It would surprise you to know I’ve lost my appetite. I’ve lost six pounds since the break up.

That terrifies me. 

Ten days.

 Today I’m leaving town to get some space from our memories. Being in this over populated city without you makes it feel empty. Podcasts about crime and murder help take the mind off personal problems. I learned about the Flannan Isles mystery on my six hour drive to the desert. Three lighthouse keepers disappear without a trace before Christmas in 1900. Bodies where never found. The island itself has a creepy past of making visitors uneasy. Apparently some believe it contains the portal between our world and the underworld. Physically speaking, it’s a dangerous one. Easy to get shipwrecked, easy to miss. A lighthouse is needed. I would also like to have some sort of light guiding me on my journey. I suppose that’s why people follow religions. 

 I’ll be moving freely in the desert, wishing you were with me. At the very least wishing you were thinking of me. My family will complain about the times politically and I’ll be too shy to disagree. I brought my guitar so every day I can make up another song about how I much I miss you. 

Twelve. 

 I’m sitting in the sun drinking at noon. I’ve been drunk one too many times. Right now I don’t care. I only really eat dinner so my diet isn’t doing any better. I look at your instagram almost every hour. I thought I would disable it to save myself but I’m afraid if I don’t check on you once and awhile it’ll be like you never existed in the first place. I was so afraid of loosing you. There is something freeing about your fear materializing. Still massively sucks. 

 I almost called you. My finger hovered over your pet name. I had to remind myself you need to come to me. I was the one who put more into us. If we were ever to be again, you need to call me. You need to change your mind. Since the day I met you I wanted to be with you. I have yet to change my mind. I will wait for you. I kinda hate you for it.

 It’s been fourteen days since we last spoke.

 You called me.

 I almost didn’t answer thinking it was a dream. You said hello first. Your voice was soft and sweet, choosing your words ever so carefully. 

I really need to talk to you. Are you free? I can come over.

*My palpitating heart eased itself into a sort of some what normal rhythm.

Well, not today but I am tomorrow.

*You didn’t know I was in another state. I didn’t want to tell you I was now going to leave because you wanted to see me. 

Okay, good. I can come over at noon if you’d like.

*Trying not to sound eager wasn’t in my wheelhouse. 

Okay, yeah. I’ll be home. 

*I swear I can’t breathe. 

Sandra?

*I love when you say my name.

I really do miss you. 

 There it was. The thing I was scared you wouldn’t feel. No, it isn’t fair to hear you say it now or before. It validates us. Trying not to get too excited for this conversation is going to be hard. Driving the hours safely back could be a challenge. 

 I packed immediately. I knew I wouldn’t leave until early morning next day. It wouldn’t be easy going home now and sleeping in that bed knowing you’ll be in my space again. I tried my best to stay focused on my parents. We did game night, watched a movie all the while my dad trying to convince me that I should stay longer. I needed, more than anything, to see you. Attempting to get over you has been exhausting. I do have to remind myself that there is a possibility you still won’t come back to me. You might just be seeing me to tell me it’s forever over.

 As soon as the sun rose, I was out the door. My average speed was around ninety miles an hour, not caring about the potential ticket that would break the bank. I called several people to distract myself from the hours I had left. I kept to myself I heard from you. Our potential was sacred to me and I didn’t want anyone else’s input on what may or may not happen. The desert was blooming, flowers and green giving me hope for a brighter future. 

 I got back an hour exactly before you said you’d be there. I rushed everything upstairs. My hands tingled from nerves, I hadn’t eaten all day. I had tunnel vision on you. Thirty more minutes, I made sure I had my place tidy. Fifteen more minutes, I fluffed my hair and put on my favorite perfume. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to calm myself down. Trying to tell myself I had no idea what was about to happen. All this patience had paid off. He reached out, he wants to talk. It meant more to me that he made the effort than me, a problem in our relationship. It was time, he was still not there. I paced, glancing at the door over and over as if I could conjure him right in front of me. 

Then the knock. 

Fifteen days since I last saw you. And you were right outside my door.