I messaged her yesterday, asking for her to please send me my John Proctor is the Villain Playbill. I absolutely did not expect her to reply — I assumed she had my number muted. But she replied with,”Sure, I’ll send it out next week.” And when I saw the text on my lock screen, I panicked for a moment. I texted back an anemic “Thanks.” Then, this morning, I texted her the following:
Thanks for answering my text. I was completely surprised to see your reply. I thought you, like, hated me.
Anyway. I hope you’re doing well. I really miss talking to you.
I’ve shed a lot of tears since receiving her reply. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve missed her friendship, and how lonely I’ve been without it. She wasn’t just my girlfriend. My love for her was bigger than that.
She became my second home. Her couch was the other place (apart from my bedroom) where I felt my nerves stop buzzing and I could exhale. In her arms on that couch was my favorite place. God, I miss the way she made me feel. The way she looked at me. The way she saw me. The way nobody else does or has since.
I know I’m not alone in the world — not by a long shot. But I’m alone in ways I wasn’t when we were together.
There’s an undercurrent of anger that flows beneath everything. Anger and resentment toward L for not being what I need. Anger with where I’m at in my life. Anger because of the sacrifices I made for my partnership with L — because this is how they played out. They’re living their best life while I’m languishing.
I don’t know how to move forward. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. Or, rather, existing in someone else’s circumstances.