It’s a cold day outside and you wish to feel warm. What is it about today? Ah yes, it’s his birthday. You feel like shit today and it doesn’t really matter because you woke up extra early to be the first one to greet him. You pick up your phone and look at it for a few seconds and ask yourself why. So what if it’s his birthday? And then you realize…
Ah. I still love him too much to not care.
They say that hate is a thin line from love. There is equal passion involved, so intense that sometimes it is deemed uncontrollable. Why, may I ask? Why couldn’t I bring myself to hate you?
You proceed to get out of your bed. You kick your sheets for it reminds you that the warmth you get from it will probably be the only comfort you’ll have for the next few years. You’ve never felt so alone.
You open your computer and instantly get on Facebook, hoping to see who greeted him on his wall, as if you have any idea who those people are. Yet, you still do that exact thing and you see his replies and ask, “Could I ever get him to reply to me like that?”
You do not know why your eyes are misty and there seems to be water coming out and you haven’t encountered this in months.
You thought you were okay. “More like pretended to be okay”, says a voice. You affirm the idea. And then cry all over again.
You decide to finally greet him, not on Facebook but by texting him like you used to. You didn’t sing to him now and you didn’t get him a present, but the feeling is all the same. You worry about what his reply might be. “You shouldn’t be worried. Get on with whatever you’re doing and stop it.”, says the voice. Shut up, I am doing this, you retaliate.
“Happy birthday! J”
You would like to show yourself that a reply wouldn’t mean anything to you now. You are okay, right? And then your phone vibrates.
You over think just like before. What does this mean? Aren’t we supposed to be friends? Why do I get only this? Shouldn’t I deserve more than “thanks”? You woke up feeling shitty and now you feel like someone hit you in the head with Thor’s hammer. You do not know what to do except to pretend again. It seems easier that way.
The voice doesn’t speak anymore.