Evenings are the hardest.
Really, all day is difficult, but it hits me most in the evenings.
That’s when we would talk on the phone.
I find myself recalling our conversations and reading his emails more and more lately.
I still can’t read the texts, too painful.
Daydreaming about him is my current default setting.
Eastern time is now programmed into my consciousness.
Three hours ahead.
My west coast mind likes to imagine what he is doing at any given time of day.
I spend way too much of my energy in missing him.
It seems I miss him more and more with the passing time while the pain slowly becomes more tolerable to endure it.
How is it that the longing has become more intense?
Maybe this is the period where things get worse before they get better.
God, I hope so.
Speaking of hope, would it be too much to hope that he thinks of me too?
That he longs for me throughout the day just as much as I do for him?
Is this a dangerous thing to hope for?
Still, I hope he can feel me thinking about him, silently pulling him back towards me.
I wonder if he still reads my stuff or if he’s been smart and has stayed away.
I don’t care much for when he is smart.
I’m told to sit it out.
To just be patient.
I don’t really have a choice in the matter.
However, I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.
For him to break my heart some more?
For him to return and say he wants me?
For nothing to happen and never get to speak to him again?
It feels like purgatory, not knowing what the final sentence is or when it will come.
I’ve discovered I’m not as patient as I had believed myself to be.
I’m incredibly impatient, in fact.
Warring with my instincts is exhausting.
And sleep continues to get disrupted.
I’m going to age quickly and it will be all his fault.
For that, I will place blame.
Oh, how I am fucked.