night picnics are different

fuck you. no, you don’t miss me. you miss having me around, to make you breakfast and scratch your head when you’re stressed; you miss the certainty of knowing that i love you. how can you possibly miss me, and the awful chaos that we created, when you have someone wonderful and loving and sweet, someone much gentler than i, to keep away the loneliness?

i miss you. i have no one, and nothing, and everyone says the holidays are the most miserable time of year—they’re not wrong. don’t worry, i’m not going to pretend that any of this angst is justified, or reasonable, or that i expect you to do anything about it. i know that being unable to shake this desperate longing for you is no reason to climb back into a dysfunctional emotional mess of a relationship. but i’m still heartbroken over you; so don’t you dare try to tell me that you miss me. you could’ve had me. i could be next to you right now, curled up under those heavy blankets… stop it. i can’t go there now.

what i’m trying to say is simple: you don’t really miss me, so don’t wallow in self-pity and false grief over our silence. don’t make it my fault that we haven’t spoken in a month. did you even notice the date? did you realize, last night at that insomniac hour when you decided to haphazardly barge back into my life, that exactly one month ago i was sleeping fitfully in your bed, while you frantically packed your bags?

i did. i woke up this morning thinking of you; thinking of how one month ago today i stood on that train platform and kissed you goodbye through a flood of tears, kissed you like i’d never kissed anyone before. i watched you and the train pick up speed and disappear from view, and i felt deep down that it was really goodbye. but i knew that if i just kept walking, up the stairs, out of the station, down the street all the way back to that house we both call home, that eventually i’d be okay. so that’s what i’m doing now—walking away. it’s the only way i know how to survive.

i figured it’s better that i post this here than actually send it to him.

besides, if he really wanted to get inside my head, he’d have made the CD and mailed it to me, instead of just sending me the playlist. now i’m going to have to go to the trouble of finding all these songs myself.