I’ve started the same text like a dozen times in an effort to find some closure. Every single time, when I think I’ve written the most perfect text that won’t make me sound goofy, I stop myself and delete the entire thing. Mostly because this happens after a night of bar hopping and shit talking with my friends, when I’m feeling the bravest.
But what is closure anyways?
Is it necessary?
Can we just awkwardly bump into each other in the market, five years from now, when I’ve almost forgotten how your kisses taste? Or maybe I can accidentally like one of your Instagram pictures and you’ll message me a simple “hey”?
Or maybe run into one another at the park and casually update each other about our new jobs, new boyfriends, new whatevers. I’ll be doing most of the talking, of course, trying to fill in the silence. You’ll nod and smile, like always, and tell me that I look good. I’ll trip on my words and get red and excuse myself because I’ll be on a rush. We’ll try to hug and I’ll smell your neck and the familiar scent will make me want to cry. But I won’t cry. Not then. Not in front of you. I’ll get home, text some “it was nice to see you” bullshit and eat some ice cream or call the homies to tell them what happened. They’ll roll their eyes and tell me to move the fuck on.
I’ll try to move on but then it will be a buzzed Saturday night and I’ll be staring at my cellphone screen reading through the familiar text I’ve started a dozen times before.
I won’t send it. Instead, I’ll make a drawing and write a blog about it.
