This ceiling is bringing me down. I feel like I’m in an institution. The black and white speckled tiles remind me of the static that has left my mind scattered. I lay here for lack of a better idea. Eyes open. Far from sleep. I spoiled any chance of that when I collapsed in the middle of the afternoon. The sun was leaking through the shades, but i threw the covers over my head so i could waste the day. It’s a routine that I’ve become quite comfortable with. There’s no one awake to bother me at night. I can just lay back and let the thoughts race around my head. Sometimes I try to slow them down and sort them out in hopes that I can ease my mind and drift off for a few, but mostly I just let them go. They’re mostly about you. Where are you? What are you doing? What are you thinking? How do you feel? You don’t share much with me anymore so i do my best to answer the questions myself. I can never know for sure, but I’m guessing the scenarios I create in my mind are pretty accurate.
Its 1:24 a.m. on a Wednesday night. You’ve been at your boyfriends place since you finished your last class of the day. Right now, the two of you are laying in bed sharing a few thoughts before you try to sleep. 50 minutes ago your phone vibrated. You picked up your phone nondescriptly, knowing very well that it was a text message from me. You read it discretely, being very careful not to let him see who it was from. He asked. You answered, “no one.” But he knows. You place your phone back on the table, roll over towards him and give him a kiss, providing him the assurance he needs. You easily expel any second thoughts of me from your mind, and the two of you, bodies entwined, drift off to sleep. Seems quite realistic, almost a certainty. It wasn’t difficult to conceive. I’m sure you could do the same thing for me, if you cared to squander your thoughts in that way…You climb into bed, knowing damn well you’re not going to be able to sleep. You struggle with the decision of whether or not to send me a text message, but you already know what you’re going to do. The outcome is the same every time. You send something short, usually just my name followed by a period. You place your phone back down on the bed beside you and stare up at the ceiling. You’re fairly confident that there will be no response, but you wait anyways. Some nights you’ll send more than one just to try to occupy a small space in my mind. You know it doesn’t increase the chances of me responding. It’s not about that. You continue the waiting game for a few hours. Going from eyes open staring at the ceiling to eyes closed trying to form a coherent thought, then climbing out of bed to sit idly in your chair. This continues until you’ve worn yourself out and find yourself more hopeless and depressed than the day before. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to drift off to sleep for 45 minutes before your alarm rings...Yeah. You know me well. Probably more well than you’d like to. I’ve made sure of it. Always sharing my deepest thoughts and desires with you even when you could not care less. I know you’re not going to reciprocate. I haven’t known for sure how you feel since we broke up over two years ago. You’d say I don’t deserve to know. I trust your judgment. Lately, I’ve been trying harder than ever, panicking as I feel my time running out. I’m letting the feelings spill from my mind into the open air. Feelings that completely dispel any facade of confidence and strength. It reeks of desperation. I know you can smell it. I have to tell you anyway. I know somewhere deep down there’s still a place for me in your heart. Whether its buried too deeply beneath layers of hardened heart, I can’t be sure. So I’m taking my final stand for you.