Unread

I saw the messages. The notifications scrolled by while I was working, in meetings, or just simply exhausted. It’s a necessary conversation for all newcomers. It starts with the first unread text. Then the guilt of replying days later when I’m present and in the headspace to engage. Most times my watch vibrates, I scan the message, a dang it escapes my cool. I tell myself I’ll get back to you when I finish this task. Then something else comes up. As an attempt to do better, I inform Sara knowing she’ll remind me to hit you up. After the third inquiry, she’ll look at me unable to understand these characteristics that never resembled me. Now it’s just a daily recital before the weekly accountability meeting with my lack of follow-ups being among the first three. I promise to do better. And I mean it. But it’s a promise unfulfilled, at this point, all involved know all too well.

It’s communication. My human contradiction. To want to speak but can’t share the depths of my words. The words are easier to text so I always insert a period when I know my life is at minimum a run on sentence. The baggage is at the end but I keep it cute and just give you the intro.

“How you been?”. Simple. Straight to the point. It used to be. Now it’s a blatant recognition of the suffocation. Then the burdensome question of why am I still suffocating. It’s been months. And no, there’s no timeline says every therapist, friend, and acquaintance, but truthfully there is. How long do I have until I hear the words I know I won’t recover from. The words that I know are coated in care for me but deep down translate as impatience with me.

I’m afraid to hit the year mark. Because if at nine months it still feels like week two, I truly don’t know what to do. My heart is so broken from losing my favorite man. And the realization, that no one even comes close. This void will not be filled. Maybe if I have a child. Maybe not. The tears fall without notice most times. The sorrow is unbearable. And one thing I’m not is a burden.

So the texts go unanswered. The calls are now nonexistent because I don’t want you to ask how I’m doing. Not well. And I fear I never will be. Cause no one can replace him. He made sure of it. So now it’s nine months later and I’m still here. Hurting. Grieving. Afraid to reply because I don’t like to be low. And you ain’t call for all that. You called for a good time, a quick laugh, maybe meet up for drinks. But I’m not her. And I don’t think she’s coming back. I think I left her on that cruise. Without knowing, she knew. She never said goodbye, she didn’t think she had to. Then again, he didn’t want me to. He knew. And that’s the part that makes this so hard to go through.