I like getting postcards from your travels.

I hope you find what you’re looking for. I wish what you were looking for was me but know it isn’t, no matter how much I want it to be.

You can’t make someone love you. It’s not enough to tell them or show them if they don’t feel anything in return. I know I mean something to you, but what is it? Feels feint, distant. Siberia or the Twilight Zone.

It’s a banishment, no matter how posh the accommodations. No way out without severing all contact.

But sitting here waiting and hoping, galaxies away from you, I can’t cut the cord completely.

Call me a coward or a weakling. I keep hoping your feelings will change. That you’ll stop your rambling and return to me.

It’s so stupid dreaming to have back something that never was. But even ‘real’ relationships are 90% projection. You see the one you want rather than the one you’re with. You ignore the flaws and discrepancies so long as your ideal is remotely visible when you squint.

When A and I got together, she’d tell me all about her exes. How and why things went sideways. She always talked about potential. Like they were hovels in need of a little TLC to turn into gems. But the first time we hit a rough patch, she left town.

Guess I wasn’t the kind of fixer-upper worth salvaging.