Him: “ I miss you “
Her: “Really?”
Him: “Yes”
Her: “But Why ? I drive you crazy”
Him: “True”
Her: “Then why?”
Him: “I just do.”
Her: “I don't get how you could miss me then”
Him: “You know I love you”
Her: “So? Doesn't explain why you miss me”
Him: “Because I love you”
Her: “It doesn't seem like it, how could you love me if you can go days without speaking to me”
Him: “.....”
Her: “Exactly, you don't miss me, you miss the idea of me and what I bring to table.”
Him: “That's not true”
Her: “Well your actions say otherwise”
Him: “So you don't miss me?”
Her: “No I don't”
Him: “You don't love me anymore?”
Her: “How could I love someone who constantly hurts me?”
Him: *typing..*
Her: *Blocks Number*
About the Creator
Merjaunie Lena
I write to express, and clear my head, it's my therapy.
It's not perfect, but nothing is
Being able to vent without a filter is the best way to go.
I am not a professional writer
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More stories from Merjaunie Lena and writers in Poets and other communities.
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar2 days ago in Feast
Comments (3)
Kudos to her for being to block him! Loved your poem!
Ah, that ending! Nice poem.
Yay!! I’m so glad she blocked his number. Great job on this conversation.😉😉