Cerulean

the things i backspace

I'm sorry, I can't do this

I'm sorry

I take a deep breath, typing. I know I should keep my promise, to tell you everything. But sometimes the things I want to say
...
they're not nice.

Fine, ok. Whatever you want

No, what's wrong
I already know what he's going to say.

Nothing's wrong. Don't say sorry, you did nothing that garnered an apology

I gain some courage
Baby?

Yes?

You said you can't do this

I just want to know why

Five seconds
[Just give me a good reason to trust you when you barely tell me anything.]

Just tell me something
[I want to help. Why won't you let me help?]

I'm sorry. Genuinely, I'm serious, I'm sorry

See you Sunday evening?

Okay
It's always like this

I'm sorry baby

Ok

How are you feeling?

A range of emotions
[Upset, for one. Hurt, for two. I think it's pretty reasonable.]

And you?

Want to share a little more?

I sigh again.
[I feel confused, frustrated, annoyed. Here's one: unreciprocated]

You're acting a little odd

It doesn't matter
[Nothing, no matter how hard I try, really even matters]

It does matter.

It really does.

I like the way my name is written.
It doesn't

I'll see you Sunday

Goodnight

You're important

You need to talk

[So do you. And I'm tired of you pretending like you don't.]

Goodnight.

I ignore the last message, a swirling storm sitting in my chest.
And just this afternoon, I whined about how I forgot about how it felt to love someone with my everything.
But it doesn't really even matter now,
does it?