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Irony in the Morning...

Not even an ellipses...

By BrettNotGregPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
Irony in the Morning...
Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash

I flicked a cigarette off of the balcony as I slid the door open and walked back inside. “Anything planned today?” The naked guy (whose name I could not remember) asks from the bedroom as I’m throwing my shirt on and feeling around for my keys.

Just work.” I lied.

I never feel much like talking after nights like these. The events were hazy. I knew I had been dancing, and I had a strong fear of checking my bank account. Nothing I wasn’t used to.

I had a good time.” He says, coming out of the bedroom now sporting a pair of pajama pants.

Same.” I callously reply.

We should...”-

“-I gotta go.” I interrupt, quickly giving him a hug and making my way out the door. “...I’ll text you.”

“...but you don’t have my num...”-

*SLAM*

I get into my car and quickly drive to the nearest gas station. I sit in my car for a few minutes, trying to piece the night together.

*BRRONK!* I receive a new notification on Grindr. It’s the guy who’s place I just left (his profile name was “looking”, but I doubt that was his real name.) His message read:

“You left your cigarettes. Hope you got what you were looking for. Have a nice life.”

A few minutes later, it disappeared along with his profile. He’d blocked me. I shrugged it off, got out to pump my gas, and as I stared around the neighborhood, I got this familiar, yet unsettling feeling. I knew I’d been in this area before.

I get back in my car, grab my phone from the passenger seat, and realized I’d forgot to close Grindr. Curiosity ensues, and I start scrolling. Almost immediately, I’m hit with the gut-wrenching realization of why I know this neighborhood.

In plain sight, right there in one of those little squares that reads “1430 feet away” is him. The man who made me the anxious, shallow, calloused shell of a person that I am today. The last person I ever allowed myself to love. My heart was inside of my abdomen.

Our first date played on a loop in my head:

We’d been talking about hanging out, but never made it around to it, until one magical night, I said yes to dinner at his apartment. Everything was perfect. He prepared a steak as well as a salmon because he didn’t know which I preferred. I had the steak, he had the salmon. I poured myself a glass of Cabernet, while he enjoyed a fruity glass of Merlot. We laughed about how we’re polar opposites in every way. To this day, I cannot recall a time where I felt more complete.

After a small panic attack, I’m overcome with a strong urge to communicate with him. I ultimately came to the conclusion that messaging him on that platform would be awkward, maybe even disrespectful. I decided it would be best to text him.

As I sat at this 7-Eleven gas pump for an extra thirty minutes trying to find the right words to say, and an extra ten trying to convince myself to hit “send”, this was the final result:

“Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I know we don’t talk much anymore, but I still think about you every day. I hope that one day things can be different, but until then, I wish you nothing but happiness.” Delivered

After a moment of waiting, I decided to head home, turning my phone face-down to relieve some anxiety. The drive home was a good 25 minutes, and I was able to turn on some music and forget about it for a while.

I pull into my driveway and grab my phone and “Delivered” had now been changed to “Read”.

breakups

About the Creator

BrettNotGreg

Thirty-something creative with a wide spectrum of interests.

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    BrettNotGregWritten by BrettNotGreg

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