the coward’s way out
i couldn’t stop myself. my inhibitions were weakened by unintentional reminders and i contacted him. i knew i shouldn’t, but my heart was aching. i wanted to know if i would see him again.
i sent a text to see if he kept his travel plans on the 19th. twenty minutes later, i heard back. ‘yes, i’ll get my stuff on the 20th’.
i needed more information. i wanted to see what kind of visit it would be. if he was going to be somewhat receptive to talking. or if it would be cold. in-n-out. just like our breakup. it would be fitting, and maybe i deserved it.
even so, there is no way i could handle it. i can dish it, but i can’t take it. if he came in here, packed up everything, and left with only a good bye, i’d be devastated. crushed.
so i replied. i asked if he would be wanting to talk when he came on his trip. i could prepare myself for talking, and i had a lot to say. i’m sorry, for one. and that despite the fact that i love him, it’s a matter of our compatibility.
i’ll skip the parts about thinking about him every minute of the day, and of how my heart aches, and how i miss him and wish i hadn’t done it. he deserves a clean break. and i can’t promise i won’t break it off again.
but i haven’t heard back. radio silence. maybe he needs some time to think about it.
he might respond later…but in case he won’t, i’m already planning my escape plan. i’m envisioning leaving my key under a rock and drowning my sorrows in lots and lots of alcohol somewhere very far away while he stops by.
or arranging to have a friend of his to get his things in advance, and taking a bunch of benedryl to sleep through the weekend.
run away. my go-to m.o.