Sunday Afternoon

It's halfway through the afternoon. I'm still in bed. Watching French film. I have no other reason to do anything else. I checked beach weather; it's no good. I've starting taking more note of the days gone by. It's been almost a week since we spoke, because I called him. Even longer since I saw him last. He doesn't seem to miss me. Doesn't seem to care. Doesn't seem to want to see me at all, anywhere. My mind starts inventing or deducing, whichever it is. He's met someone new, or someone old and I am no longer necessary. No longer important.

And the silence is saddening because I remember the noise from before. I thought he wanted to be around me. I thought the distractions were keeping him from me. They were saving him from me. I warned him of this. I said our relationship would change. I said I was afraid. I said all those things and he brushed them off as silliness. And now he has no desire to talk to me. My last words to him were 'call me whenever you want, whenever you are bored or feel like it'. He said thanks. Not I will, or I miss you, or can't wait to talk to you. Thanks.

Like thanks for pining for me when I'm gone. Thanks for telling me you'll always be around waiting for me like a stupid dog. Thanks for being such an emotional idiot. I'll call when I have no one else and you'll be so happy that I've graced you that you'll forget everything about being alone and just be happy that someone is willing to talk to you because you are a total loser. Loser.

It's a Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to do. No one wanting me. No one making me happy. No one who cares what the hell I'm doing or thinking.