autobiographical,  Thoughts

Ex Stream of Consciousness

This is a note I found on my phone from 2015. I have long since let go of the man, and I am overdue to let go of the note.

It’s 11pm Friday. I shouldn’t miss you this much, but I do because I know you just won’t be here tonight. It’s as if the anticipation of missing you makes me miss you more.
—–
Saturday afternoon and you’re tweeting about champagne and ice cream in the sun by a river. I’m jealous and unpleasantly moody over this. I’ve starred and unstarred your tweets twice. We said full black out … Which means not even indirect connections. I have never felt more in the wrong place at the wrong time in my life.
—–
Having a hard time writing this down. It’s almost like holding it in is more soothing. I suck at this longing like a lozenge, dissolving it slowly, not savoring it but also not wanting it to melt too quickly.
—–
Hating that my heart is with you but my words are not.
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Realizing why people unfollow and block when they break up, not that this anything like a breakup but your virtual nearness makes my heart ache. I maintain that this is easier than planning the unplannable to talk and be frustrated this weekend but I still miss you.
—-
Just saw a drawing of a fox. Sigh.
—-
Really struggling to put things down in words. I think I’ll just wait until we talk.

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