I drove on 650 with my windows down for an hour after the movie was done. It’s a cold summer night after a quick rain. I’m chasing lightnings, but I’m not fast enough.
Where are you? Not here. That’s all I care about.
I don’t ask for much. Actually, I have a pretty low standard of happiness. I’m very easily pleased. But why is it that you, or I, or we are still not meeting that minimum? Are you happy? Because I’m not.
And maybe that’s the problem here. Maybe I do too much and in return I expect a little more. And I get nothing. Where’s the effort? Where’s the gratitude? Maybe I’m being shallow or materialistic or a drama queen or needy. I don’t know what other word there is except for unhappy.
I had a crappy day and you were nowhere to be found. No, you weren’t busy. You were watching Jurassic Park with friends, all day. I am begging for attention, driving by to pick up my jacket, bringing you Slurpees because I feel like that’s the only way I deserve your attention – when I’m giving you something or doing something for you. It shouldn’t be that way.
And I understand that you’re tired and couldn’t drive me home. I wish you had said something earlier. I wish you had told me so I could have driven myself, or taken your car. I had to get a ride from someone else and everything was ok. Except that I felt abandoned.
It gets incredibly lonely being your girlfriend sometimes. I think you forget that you have a girlfriend whenever you’re in that house. And I love hanging out with them. They are really fun to be with. But you only remember me when you’re lonely in your Baltimore apartment, when you have an empty clump of time to fill. Then you ask me to show up.
I don’t really know what to expect, and I don’t know what change I want to happen. But I don’t want to read your messages that include “I love you,” and think to myself, “Do you, though?” Because I think you just like having a girlfriend when it’s convenient.
I don’t miss you. And that’s a troubling thought. I used to look at you and talk to you and miss you so much even though we just saw each other. Or be so busy but still see each other but not have alone time, and I’d look at you and I’d hold your hand, and I would miss you so much. If you had looked in my eyes, you’d see me longing and begging for you.
Now, I look at you, and I feel nothing. I feel resentment, I guess. Maybe some frustration. But there is no affection. I rather not even look at your eyes. I used to hold on to your hand and lace my fingers with yours, and it felt like your fingers melted with mine. Now your fingers feel forced, and a burden. My hands are not interested.
I’m not jealous, although I get jealous often. But I know when to shut up and turn that off when it’s ridiculous. I’m not jealous. I’m lonely, and I feel used, and I feel like a place holder. And quite frankly, I’m running out of things to do for you and give you to get your affection. I don’t really know what else to do.
So I’m telling you this. Because we’re in trouble here.