Friday, August 14, 2009
Late Night Email Alert
I came home from the club slightly inebriated. I stumbled over every chord or wire in my apartment as I made my way to the bathroom to relieve myself.
(Ever since this break up (for lack of a better word), I have developed a slight drinking problem. Before you judge me, try to understand my pain. I am irrevocably in love with a man who does not love me back. At least not the way I love him, and if he does and I use the word if cautiously; he has never told me nor do I see it in his actions. I have been hurt many times, and I thought this was different. Wrong. He played me. Imagine that for a moment, and see if you fancy a drink or two from time to time. Back to today's events)
I washed my hands and stumbled back to the living room, humming "Break Up" by Mario. (oh the irony) As I reach the sofa, I kick off my heels, pull my dress over my head and throw myself on the waiting couch cushions. I grabbed my sorority blanket and curled up on the couch. I turned on the television, but I don't remember what was on because I was not really paying attention.
I must have nodded off because when my Blackberry rang with its familiar email alert I was startled. Since my BlackBerry is synced with my personal email, I knew that whomever was emailing me was someone I was either related to or knew me personally. With that in mind, I did not hesitate to check it.
Now imagine my surprise when I read his name in the from box. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I froze. I didn't know whether to shit or shine my shoes. Should I delete it? I didn't know, but if I did I would wonder about it for all the days of my life. Funny but the subject line read "please don't delete." I chuckled a little, because he knew me too well. Then I sighed loudly at the thought.
My eyes kept scrolling back and forth looking at the name and subject line for what seemed like hours, but I know it was not. Finally I got the courage to check it, and it read:
I know I shouldn't be writing this, but in lieu of the text message I got from you last night, I knew I had to respond. Your words troubled me all day, but the answers you seek I cannot give you. All I can say is that I need space. I am not ready to be who you deserve me to be. I have much growing to do. I will always care for you, more than you know.
You are now and always will be "the perfect verse over a tight beat."
He'd always ended every text, email, card, or letter that way ever since we had seen the movie. He knew it was my favorite line.
Reading that email re-opened the wound, and lined it with salt.
P.S. When I woke up in the morning and attempted to re-read it, it was gone.
The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl