Your voice was like a lullaby last night. I have a vague recollection of exchanging a goodnight and hanging up, with a secret smile on my face. And I only recollect deep slumber after that. Perhaps it was the fatigue of the last few weeks or the turmoil of the last few days. But I slept better than I had in weeks.
There was a lot I wanted to tell you, things that I had in mind, things that struck me on the spur of the moment but I don’t know why I didn’t say any of it. I was a wee bit overwhelmed, a wee bit groggy. But I know I was tired of playing games, of finding motives.
You said that our relationship wouldn’t have a label. That we’d be very close and each others’ happiest secret. But my doubts lingered. I wondered if we’d make it past the perfunctory and mundane questions, if I could stop trying to find a motive for our conversations. I wish I’d stop wearing my heart on my sleeve each time I spoke to you.
I’m beginning to tire of the broken, fragmented conversations. I’d have liked to dissect your words. I want to repeatedly ask you why you said something you did just so I can understand how you function and where you’re coming from. I want to sit across a table, chat with you endlessly and get your perspective on things. I want to know what you think about me. I want to know what you think about us.
I know I want long conversations, and lots of them. I want to know what makes you smile, what irks you. I still don’t have a complete mental picture of you. And no, there isn’t a set of questions I can ask to clarify. We DM often but there’s a lot that gets lost in those 140 characters.
In an alternate universe, I’d have probably lusted for you. But I don’t. I like what we have. At least I thought that I did. I was slowly slipping into the comfort zone with you. “Mental lovers,” you referred to us, with a slow, comforting smile.
But I also feel let down. Used. Spurned. Tossed aside. Because I wouldn’t play it on your terms. Because I hated how blatant you were about it. Because I hate how carried away I got.