Feb. 15th, 2015

mxmories: pusheen the cat eating ramen (Default)
 

12.00 - I am tired and lonely and I think you’ve fallen asleep again. All my friends have long gone to bed and I’m scrambling through this darkness for some sense of security before I have another late-night panic attack; before another emotional disaster strikes my feeble mind.

12.05 - It’s been (about) a mere 300 seconds (I’m shocked I can do that math in my head), but I’m still fidgety and crying. I think some would call this “fear of detachment,” or maybe simply “paranoia” with a mix of obsessiveness.

12.10 - I’m still tired, less lonely. My stuffed animals and slow, sad music bring some peace but you are still missing. I want to get lost in your voice again over the late hours, playing dress-up and reading bedtime stories until my tiny almond brown eyes can’t bear the weight of the air anymore.

12.15 - Do you call me babygirl because I behave like one? It all makes sense now. I am a baby. I’m a kitten, too, annoyingly mewling with my squeaky, newborn voice after four seconds without attention.

12.20 - Now that I’ve started counting, I think it’s been three (four?) days since we’ve talked in what you call “face-to-face” and I feel a bit neglected, although simultaneously clingy (you pretend it’s cute, which I’m okay with). For some reason, the anxiety that you may, at some point, not love me anymore hits me. Hard. You are not yet here to cease the storm.

12.25 - I recall that you worked this morning, from a prompt and early 7am (you are very punctual, if I remember correctly) to 3pm. I slept until one and played on Webkinz again until three so I wouldn’t feel like I do now. Isn’t that upsetting?

12.30 - I can’t really tell why I ever thought that boys would be reliable when you need someone to lean on. All of my girlfriends would’ve ran cross-country (in a literal sense) at midnight just to see me if I was ever sad. We are empathetic souls.

12.35 - I refresh my email. I refresh my twitter page. I refresh my messages. I reload our Couple app (and turn my phone off and on, just for good measure). I checked the Skype status to make sure they were correct in saying you’re online (hoverclick, click click, click, on a mobile device, click, sigh, click, Last activity 13 minutes ago). They were.

12.40 - I stayed up until 4am last week on a Sunday and woke up at 5am (to be clear, an hour later) just to make sure we called and I’m starting to wonder how appreciative you are of that.

12.45 - I heard a noise in the kitchen and stopped typing. I hoped it could somehow be you. Just grandma. Cigarette break from sleeping at 12:45am? Okay.

12.50 - I forgot to tell you that I’m reading Lolita. I thought you’d think that’s cute. I won’t tell you until morning, though, because I’ve already sent you two messages in a row (“Are you asleep?” “Goodnight, dear”) and three would be too risky.

12.55 - I need to get someone to stay up with me until I fall asleep and tuck me into bed before I rest my little head like my mom did when I was five. She would sit at my bedside while I cried my demons away and brush her calloused hands against the side of my face. Sometimes she sang me lullabies. You sing to me sometimes. I like that.

1.00 - It’s very late and I’m very sad. I have barely talked to you all day and it is Valentine’s day, you know. I sent out your letter today. I really hope you gave me the right address and not your dad’s by mistake. You tend to do things like that.

1.05 - Speaking of Valentine’s day, I didn’t like your gift to me. No number of orgasms will amount to the feeling of hearing you say I love you or the sight of your mouth curling while I start to doze off. Sex is not love, and love is not sex. I always forget that when it’s most important.

1.10 - Maybe I should do my math homework. Maybe I should do my English homework. Maybe I should start a less embarrassing, revealing piece. Maybe I should go to sleep. I’ll drift into emptiness while I’m sure you’re counting infinite sheep and dreaming of things that have nothing to do with me.

1.15 - I hate puppy love. It leaves me empty and broken during times like these.

1.20 - I’ll make myself some food to keep myself awake because, oh my gosh, what if you wake up? I really can’t miss that, baby.

1.25 - “Read at 1:22 am” is plastered under my messages to you. The lack of new notification bubbles in my app collection is concerning. Are you angry with me?

1.30 - I counted up our messages today. You sent seventeen to me. 47% of which were three words. They seem more empty now.

1.35 - Sleep is clouding my childlike eyes (you really like those, I know) so I think I’ll curl up with Angels by The xx on repeat. Everyone at CWR will be curious as to what came to this work a few weeks from now. I am too.

Goodnight.

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mxmories: pusheen the cat eating ramen (Default)
madi(son)

July 2015

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