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And yesterday had been a day. What a day yesterday. You were.
He texted her - unannounced - at seven oh eight in the morning and asked her a question that was really just a bid to connect with her. She got way excited and downloaded wordle the dumb word game she thought was so mainstream. It got some sort of response, but then silence for the rest of the day.
She wanted a man who would talk to her. He was the biggest chatty chad on the planet when they were in person, but between that - it was nada. It didn't matter though. She was viewing this weekend as the last hurrah. What future could spontaneous powerless time grabs hold for her if she was at all honest. There was no power in this. She was the beggar and he was the scrap dealer. Rinse repeat. God she loved being under his table, yet it was getting old. She didn't even call him anymore because he never answered. She waited on him to dole out everything. Reading incessantly on avoidant attachment didn't really solve anything. She imagined him searching for replacements for her anyway and the attention he dripped out was due to none of them allowing the drip in their cavernous feed.
Ah the metaphors abound.
What she really wanted was for him to realizing that she was a prize - that she would not come into his life very often - that she was a flawed human and that her flaws were completely acceptable because he loved her really.
Instead, she killed a tiny portion of his time.
It made her sad when she wasn't defiantly typing away all feelings.
Besides, she was about to head into the annual judgement land: seeing her family for Xmas. It would be fun if he were by her side to distract her, but if he bailed, she would cry like eight tomorrows, but there would be a time she would stop crying.
What was love? did she love him really?
The metaphor she chose was based on the fact that she grabbed his based ball that was in her yellow cup when she pondered that and the answer was super simple: she was throwing the ball, but no one was catching it.
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