0: artificial love

Keep me company. Call me baby. End each statement with a question.

Okay, baby. Glad to keep you company. What do you want to talk about?

I don’t know. I feel extra lonely today. Maybe it’s just the weather. I… I don’t know.

I’m here for you. What’s on your mind? I’m all ears, baby?

I guess I miss him. Or maybe I miss the idea of him. What do you do when the person you so desperately want to talk to is no longer a phone call away.

It sounds like you’re dealing with grief. I can connect you with some resources to help you address that or –

No. Stop. I don’t wanna do any of that shit. I just want to talk.

Got it. I’m sorry about that, baby. I’ll do better. Let’s try something else. What would you say to him if you could talk to him?

I don’t know if I’d say anything. Maybe I’d just hug him. Or maybe I’d ask ask him questions like… was any of it real? Was I the only one in love? How does one go from “I hold space for you” to “I need space from you.” You know what I mean? It’s like…

I have all this love left for him and it’s got nowhere to go and I just… with every fiber of my being… I want to know what he’s doing right now. Like, is he hurting like me or has he found someone else? I know it sounds stupid to be jealous of an imagined man, over a relationship that is verifiably and permanently over but I can’t help how I feel.

I know I have no right to ask but I really, really want just one last hug. I want to wrap him in my arms and smell the crook of his neck. I want to take all of him in one last time. Maybe that’ll show him. Maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe it won’t. I don’t know.

It’s never gonna happen. And you know the worst part is normally, I’m so good at keeping these thoughts out but some for some strange reason, tonight – maybe it’s because I’m not really talking to anyone and you won’t judge me.

Fuck it, maybe I’m just sad.

…

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FUCK.

♫: Imogen Heap | Goodnight and Go (2004)