I woke up in the early hours of the morning with a combined feeling of being hit by a truck and a well-earned hangover. That’s funny, I thought, I don’t remember drinking. Oh, that’s right, I had that one small bourbon while watching Grace & Frankie. I remember now. But why do I feel so shitty? Every move is a marathon and the pain is bone deep. And my head, oh my head is spinning. I need to steady myself.

And then it hits me: You. You are my hangover.

The beginnings of you and I were beautiful. Such a typical, take-your-time start to what would hopefully flourish into something more. As the months passed and we became closer, spending most of our little free time together, our relationship grew stronger. I thought. But as I was connecting deeper and deeper to this human who I was beginning to love, you weren’t. You were absent. At least your heart was. I don’t know where you were but you weren’t with me.

When September rolled around, and the leaves began to turn, I wasn’t incredibly surprised at your phone call ending it all. Severing the special thing we had. Again, so I thought. You said you weren’t connecting to anything beyond your kids. You said you weren’t feeling anything deeper and should by now. You said it wasn’t me, it was you. Classic. Yet it was me that was being eliminated. The person who had been there every morning with a good morning text, or left a box of your favorite cookies on your doorstep just to make you smile. The person who you spent hours in bed with, exploring each others bodies like we were famished and the other was the sustenance we sought.

But it wasn’t enough. And don’t get me wrong, “it” wasn’t enough for me either. I wanted so much more from “us”. Longed for it. But I believed that in time, as our schedules adjusted and kids settled we would find those things. Piece by piece. You didn’t. At least not with me.

You said you were broken and still trying to figure it out. Ironically, our brokenness linked us together in the beginning. I had been nomadically wandering through life, spending my days trying to be “better”, to “get better”. For the kids, of course, right? Because why else? And then you came along and understood all of my trials and tribulations. You got me. That was an incredible feeling. A bond that I still believe only we will share.

Your exit wasn’t debilitating. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t an option. I had to keep it together. But my heart was broken. My mistake in all of this was not being true to me, and by default, you. I held back. I allowed my heart to come out and play only so much as yours wanted to. I allowed your moods to dictate my peace. And that was unfair to both of us. And yet as I tried to tell myself that this “relationship”, non-exclusive, non-committed whatever, was a good experience for me, I was falling deeper and deeper into you and none the wiser. So on the other side, all of a sudden I was slapped in the face with it: love. What the actual fuck? I did not see that coming.

I had loved you. I don’t know when it started. It wasn’t one of those fall head-over-heels, fairy tale love stories. Nope. It was slower, more thoughtful, deliberate, and much more mature. But it was love. And it’s still there, as much as I am trying to get it to vacate the premises, the heart doesn’t work in such ways. Time helps. The longer we go without contact, the better I do. The more ‘it’ forgets. Perhaps it goes a few hours without thinking of you, and then moves on to half a day. And then one weekend, out of nowhere, I realize, I haven’t thought about you at all. But bam! Now you’re there. Right where I left you. And it makes me wonder, have you thought about me?

So when I’m laying in bed one night, trying so hard to be “ok” with every minute that passes, your instagram message shocks the hell out of me. “Nothing on that word, huh?” you say, in regards to your instagram story. Of course I had seen it, I do occasionally look. And now you know I’ve seen it so I can’t blow it off. What can I do but be honest? I’m trapped. So I respond honestly, openly, letting you know I had indeed thought about it, while trying to maintain my safety at the same time. Boundaries, I must keep my distance!

You’re drinking. You only reach out these days when you’re a couple in. We used to have fun drinking together, we were good partners. Enjoyed the same things. You helped me develop an appreciation for the craftsmanship of beer. And I, well I guess I just simply showed up. And I think on most days that was all you needed. It worked. We worked.

When you confirm my thoughts on said word and proceed to tell me that “it’s the only reason I put that fucking word there”, now you have my attention. And you know this. You know I am now hooked in to this, whatever it is. But my head is spinning. This is an inside joke between us. You and me. The previous duo. The one that doesn’t exist in the now. And yet you have publicly made a reference with the thought that I just might see it. Me. The girl you didn’t want a short time ago, remember? The girl that wasn’t enough.

Why?

Why must you play with me like a toy and then toss me aside? It’s my fault, I know this, I show up. I respond. I engage. You’re like a drug to me, the first hit and I’m hooked. And like any drug, I want more. It’s almost as if it’s outside of my conscious control. My body moves and my fingers hit the keys firing off responses to you, one by one. Like a friendly game of tennis, we hit the ball back and forth, back and forth. This goes on a while, little dots pop up every few minutes as I anticipate your words. Oh and your words, how they seep into me and burrow themselves in deep, taking up residence in my soul. Your poetry has always had a way of leaping off the page only to dance along my skin.

But tennis is dangerous, because friendly game or not, someone always wins. And I don’t know how to play.