Monday, 26 March 2018

2:56 a.m. on a Tuesday night.

All the time in my life - utilised by circles that I don't want to repeat. The irony is that I am equally responsible for the continuity of it. Its a yes and no game, each time the other person not willing to forgive because they're busy healing their bruised ego. The onset of summer every year, accompanied by mutual annoyance and frustration.  I’m older, fractionally wiser and that too in my ability to solve quadratic equations and in no way wiser in the matters of the heart. In fact, I think my intelligence in that sphere has deteriorated for lack of practice and daily use. Last night was quite a sight. Me tripping over my shoes in the darkness trying to reach the buzzing phone that I had placed at the other end of the bedroom. It was one thirty in the morning and I had fallen asleep watching the season finale of The Bachelorette sometime around ten.

 My phone was spammed with messages that he had sent me being his usual awkward, deflective and victimised self, demanding to know why I had regrettably texted him one night two days ago. This casual text was a simple ‘you up’? followed by immediate self-loathing. I deleted the text seconds after I had sent it but my lack of tech savvy resulted in me deleting the text only for myself and not him. I buried myself under the covers and cursed myself for making decisions past eleven p.m. The next morning to my horror, he had seen the text and replied. I was mortified and embarrassed for stupid reasons unknown to me and him. My brilliant plan was to avoid his casual reply until the end of time. This plan was cut short by the buzzing from my phone that I started the story with. His imagination had run wild and he was desperate know why I had texted him and began to believe that I had to tell him something incredibly important. I didn't. I didn't need to say anything, at all. In fact, my mind was still reeling from a dream that I was having about Danearys Targaryen. 
I responded to his texts and before I knew it, I was forty-five minutes into a conversation with him, sitting cross-legged on my bed and being too angry and tired to care about the atrocious speling mistaekes I was making. For as shy, immature and awkward as he is, he is better at emotional manipulation than anyone I have ever met. Too good, sometimes it makes me wonder whether Netflix will release a documentary about psychopaths in the making ten years down the line and mention him. What was supposed to be a conversation about apology and forgiveness had now turned into a full caps recollection of every horrible thing we have done to each other. 

You may already think that this seems too much to handle in forty-five minutes in a half asleep state but just you wait. Behold, five minutes later he confesses that he might still like me, a minute later - he likes me but not enough to date me, two minutes later - he likes me and has liked me through another girl that he was seeing, three minutes later - whatever feelings he has had for me have disappeared like a newly freed bird and finally, five minutes later I am miraculously and all at once blocked by him. I can't help myself, it's almost three a.m. and his profile picture has disappeared and I begin to genuinely and whole-heartedly laugh. The kind of laugh that one has once every week when you realise that the world is too funny to be cruel. So I pushed my phone aside, tried to ignore the mosquito buzzing around my ear and feel asleep dreading my alarm set for two and a half hours later.


  1. This is amazing

  2. The rawness of this post just strikes a chord with me. You're a beautiful writer and the way the words you write just fall into place is awe inspiring. This guy is inherently toxic and I hope you can live the rest of your life happily and far away from his bs.

    1. Thank you so much. Comments like this genuinely make my day, thank you.



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