It’s 3 am and my phone dings. My heart lurches in my throat and I curse myself for not having it on silent. Not because it woke me up, but because I already know it’s her. I know that it’s her and that my fingers will betray me, just like they do every night. This night, I say that it will be different. I tell myself I was never this guy. I watched my father disintegrate before my very eyes. I stood through my traumas. I held my own heart night after night. I never asked for anyone to stitch back together my broken pieces. I always did it on my own. I was the strong one, even when at my weakest.
But now, in my bed, texting back nonsense to a girl who tells me time and time again she will never give me what I willingly give her, I am a shell of my former self. I lie to my friends when they ask the last time I talked to her. I repeatedly have epiphanies and announce with complete certainty, “I’m done.” I throw “fuck hers” around and put on my damn freakum shirt. I dance until my lips on her forehead aren’t even a memory anymore. I dance until her name is just a name.
And then she reaches out. I think it must mean something, that I must mean something. And I go back on every promise. I go back on every word I’ve ever written. I convince myself she has to feel this too. I allow for her excuses.
“She’s not ready.”
“She’s not over him.”
“She’s going to realize what she has one day.”
I plead with my own ego. I play Darshan Raval songs with the little dignity I have left. I look at this crumbling figure back in the mirror. I can’t even remember when I used to love him so much(myself).
I used to love myself so much. Dhaval lies to me and tells me, one day, she’s going to see me for everything I am. I won’t be her emotional pillow. Her selfish comfort. I am placeholder. I am temptation, something to ease the lonely. I am a guy she never wanted to begin with.
But the truth is, I can’t figure out how to make any of this sound pretty, or artistic. This is irrational, and dirty. This is ugly and a time I will look back on and feel pity for the foolish 24 year old man I was. I am so goddamn lost and keep hoping her body will be the compass that leads me the right way. Her eyes are lighthouses, but her hands sirens. I am shipwreck.
But before I know it, it’s 3 am again and my phone dings.
It’s her text!
Next blog will be out soon.Desai Thoughts MEdia.
Please share this blog, like it and comment what you feel about it!
Follow me on instagram for more!