The last 3 letters of the spring

When they leave, what happens to you?
Do you go too?


do you move apartments
cut your hair in an ugly bob
do you switch countries
try another yoga studio, or two, or three (anything just to keep him comfortable)
get a new job
go on endless dates with random people from the internet
pretend they are fun
pretend you are fun 
and keep scrolling
keep scrolling

Do you start writing?
poems, novels - do you start journaling?
Would you ever read all that? Probably not! I am making myself cry, he said. Sometimes I do. He is right again. What happens to the poems? Do you start a blog? Do you start getting likes; is someone even reading that shit? Does he know I started a blog? Does he occasionally visit it? On Tuesdays, in that little free slot he has between work and his basketball game (to be loved is to be known). Around six pm. Is he flattered; does he think I'm crazy? Is he aware I know? Does he want me to know? Does he think I am pathetic and lame? Is it all in my head? Did I make him up? Did I make it up? 

All of it. 

That we met in my favourite spot, on a random day in June; that I was 15 minutes early and he was 15 minutes late. Very foreshadowing! That one night I was sad and texted him that I was glad that I had met him; that he waited a second to reply and said that he was also very glad. Which turned out to be crucial for the story. Is it just a story? Would it still be important down the road? Then, another night, years later, I was sad again, and I texted him asking whether it was him. He waited half an hour to reply with a soulless “Huh?” That I had to apologise for disturbing his “peace” and not making sense (to be loved is to be known); that I was very conscious of what the distance has done to us; that I said I was sorry for invading his whatsapp privacy when really I meant I was sorry for everything. Did he catch that? << or >> Was he glorifying the moment of my defeat? ‘cause I was defeated, drowning in my own tears, to which he’d say, it’s not that deep. 

I was sad a lot, and every time I’d reach for the phone to text him, I’d write long rambling sentences about all the things I should have said, but only phrased in the shower or at yoga, never in the moment. Was he sad a lot too? << or >> Was that him not giving up the joy? The joy of singlehood. Funny, 'cause when I asked how he felt about me, he said, “Don’t you know? We spend our weekends together” - and those Wednesdays when we’d f*ck during our lunch break. Now it just feels like a warning sign I missed on purpose - at some point, he would want his weekends back, whole weeks. 

I was so afraid of finding out that he had moved on that I actually vanished - or was I driven away? Hence, in some universe we are still friends, but in all honesty, what kind of friendship is that if you’re still sad? Ever since then, he’s been avoiding me like the plague. As if he knew. He must have (we are only as blind as we want to be). How else would you explain that he took his weekends back? The Wednesdays too.


When they leave, you stay and grow out your hair.