All I can’t say

I wish I could call you. 

Text you. 

I could. 

You’ll ignore me like always. 

But you don’t really. 

I saw you on my IG stories a few weeks ago.

Maybe you think I’m posting about you? 

I am. 

Maybe. 

Guess you’ll never know. 

Why do you still care but don’t care? 

I don’t get it. 

You’re the one who left. 

You’re the one who said have a nice life Amy. 

You’re the one who hates me. 

Andrea Gibson says Is my attention on loving, or is my attention on who isn't loving me?

And to that I say yes. I love. But I also think daily about why you hate me. 

I’m a shitty person. I get it. 

But come on. Am I beyond grace? Empathy? Anything kind? 

And I wish I could text you this: 

Today let’s take a girls trip to see Chapell this weekend so I don’t have to go alone. 

We can drink and eat and drink and laugh and dance and scream Pink Pony Club and Good Luck Babe  at the top of our lungs. 

But instead I call my ex Sammi who would never go and talk to her 2 kids and dream of summer break after retirement. 

I dream of concerts. But dream alone. 

I’ll go alone. 

I’ll always be alone. 

I don’t want to be in this life without you. 

I don’t.