FAST LIFE BLUEZ | short stories

Erased

It was one of those nights where I just couldn't sleep. I remember when I used to know you and we'd spend them together. Talking until one of us drifted off. Talking until the sun came up. Talking until we felt better; less crazy, less limited, less alone.

A loud groan escaped my lips, a complete disregard for the other people just behind my walls. I sighed and sat up, throwing my hefty comforter to the side. My hand immediately went to my nightstand where my phone sat. The screen lit up as I unlocked it and my fingers, as if working against all logic, went to our messages.

I laid back on my pillows, wrapping my cover loosely around my legs, and began typing out a new one.

Hey. I can't sleep. I don't really know what's wrong or why, I just can't. How are you? Probably just fine, I'm guessing. Nice tattoos, by the way. It's not like I'm stalking your social media, cause I'm totally NOT. It is, however, definitely going against my friends' advice who says I need not do so because I shouldn't let myself go down that hole again, you know? But I'm not. I'm over you. I think. Anyway, I just like the opportunity to check up on you. I mean, we both know that means to see if you need me. But you don't. That part is entirely in my head. I just can't bring myself to ever truly stop wondering about you. I wonder if you're the same way. Or if that's just with people you actually really loved. Sometimes I wonder if you did in fact love me. Even as a friend. You only ever said "love ya" upwards of twice in an effort to make me feel better. But I loved you. I still love you. I don't think I'll ever stop. I still can't figure out why. It's not an obsessive thing, it's simply a fact. You found a place in my heart and you haven't left after all this time. I know I'm supposed to be not caring and letting go and whatever, much of which I've already done, but we always seem unfinished to me. No final goodbye, no final hug, no final feelings said. I feel like it was always me sharing, and you just.. Not. I understand the trust issues and what you've been through, but I honestly thought I meant more to you than that. That I proved myself trustworthy enough. But I guess not. And well, that still hurts. I guess I just always wanted more from you. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I've already written too much. Said too much. Said just enough. Yet, somehow, I feel that I'm always leaving something out. Maybe I'll just never run out of words. The fact of the matter is, nothing will change. We're moving on, right? SO moved on already. Our chapter in the book of life is over. Finished. Finito. Done with. I'm just the doing okay former friend who will always wonder in the back of my mind. I wonder what you call yourself in this scenario. Thoughts?

I shook my head, laughing a little to myself. I was laughing more so that I wouldn't cry, but it worked. I laughed quite a bit actually, just staring at the message brought buckets of laughter out of my guts.

But then it stopped. It wasn't quite funny. I smiled sadly, remembering.

And I deleted the entire message, letter by letter, word by word. My fingers clicked my phone off slowly and I laid back down on the pillow.

I wasn't in the mood to sleep, but I certainly wasn't in the mood to be thinking about you.