It Won’t Stop

It won’t stop. I want her gone from every part of my brain.

I need to put this somewhere. It’s 1 a.m., and I’m lying in my bed, and I can’t sleep, and I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s driving me mad, and I don’t know why I can’t give up some hope that she calls me or says she wants to try again or that she misjudged me or, for fuck’s sake, just tells me what I did that turned it off so quickly. How can someone turn off so quickly?! That’s not sane. This fucked me up to such a degree I didn’t even know I was capable of being fucked. I have never in my life felt this way about a girl, and I can’t get this woman out of my damn head.

I close my eyes, and I see her staring at me with her azure eyes and telling me that the shack she told me we’d have is closed and laughing in my face. I open my ears, and I hear her giggle with her friends, talking about how desperate I am. I feel the sting of her stare as she had already decided to move on. How can someone turn off so quickly?!

We were good. We were having fun. We had a vibe. You had planned five other dates and told me I was being stolen by Oregon and London. Where did that go?! Did that mean nothing to you at all? Do five texts and one bad picture somehow constitute a shift in affection from what you tell your future partner to just a person passing on the 7 train? I don’t get it!

Am I a joke to you? Do you not care about my emotions? Am I somehow so grotesque to you that even the thought of me repulses you?!

I had eye surgery. I had gotten off a plane. I had been out all day at work and then the Met. Does that mean nothing? Am I not worth even one more passing glance?

No, that’s for you to decide.

For how you treated me, I should just be able to tell you to fuck off.

But I can’t.

I’m weak.

I thought I had been seen.