Dear T,
You may wonder why I am writing you now. The truth is, you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. Oh, who am I kidding? You haven’t left my thoughts since the day this all started. I know how boring and tiresome you find all this, so to make it a little more interesting, I thought I would summarize my never-ending analysis of us into some detailed metrics which I have listed below.
9
12
45
158
10
1
3
15
1
9 represents the total number of hours we spent together, in person, on dates, in one another’s space. A single digit number. I can recall from start to finish how our conversations went – or should I say: I can recall everything YOU said. It was ok, though. I was happy to let you talk, patiently listen to your stories, your woes about your ex. It pleased me enough to drink you in, to allow you to unload that burden you seemed to carry. Less than 10 hours of physical contact, holding hands and awkward intimacy, kissing and touching, the feel of your skin, your heat…. me desperate to climb on top of you and love your hurt away. Looking into your eyes and feeling like I’ve escaped to another world where only we belong. Less than 10 hours which to me felt eternal in our own secret world. To paraphrase from the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, “sometimes forever is just one second.”
12 is the average number of texts we exchanged per hour. Of course, some days it was more. The contact was constant during that brief time. How I would light up when I saw your name appear on my phone. Electricity. The sweet words, the compliments, the promises, the suggestions of our future. I thought my heart would burst. And then there were the lulls which would send me into a mental frenzy, unable to concentrate until finally your messages would start back up.
45 is the number of days this whirlwind lasted. Less than 2 months. Just over 6 weeks. 0-100. The intensity was so strong, the romance moved at light speed, leaving me spinning in your blind spot after you sped off.
158 is the number of days it has been since we were last together. Months have passed. Holidays have come and gone. Seasons have changed. The confusion lingers although I have the answers. I cannot seem to move on.
10 is the number of pounds I shed due initially to the “lovesickness,” the buzzing, fed by adrenaline. The lack of appetite followed later with the abysmal sadness and emptiness I felt when things shifted.
1 is the number of days it took you to become an entirely changed person. What’s happened to that sweet, charming, attentive, affectionate man? Who is this lookalike replacement?
3 is the number of times I asked you directly what was wrong. What happened? What changed? WHY? Can we talk about it? Each met with a dull, dry “nothing’s changed,” followed by silence when I pressed.
15 is the number of times you liked or commented on my social media posts since the day you changed. I cannot describe the feeling of relief that washes over me when that one special ‘like’ or comment appears in my notifications. You still approve of how I look. I exhale. That particular pose or post pleases you in some way and I am momentarily validated. A quick hit before I sink low all over again.
1 is the number of times you’ve suggested a reunion. It was half-hearted, cheap and again, it came from the NEW you, not the one I fell so hard for. Not from the mask that died 158 days ago. Part of me wanted this reunion so badly – just to see! But logic would win in the end. Not that the battle was too rigorous. I know you need to conserve your energy for fuel that will flow a lot more freely than mine. You didn’t try that hard to lure me back out…
After all of the above, what I was not able to quantify were the countless number of tears I cried, nights of sleep I lost, hours I spent researching your behavior, lies I told my husband.
With all this said, I still vacillate between going back to that first day and changing direction entirely, to reliving it and doing it all over again. I shock myself with this admission.
I suppose the sum of all these numbers is just wasted time, wasted energy and wasted emotions. 45 days of the highest highs I’ve known, followed by 158 days (and counting) of being unable to let go. What kind of spell is this? Can you please release me? I know I’ll never get any answers from you, I know none of this will ever make sense from my world view. I pray for the day when it no longer matters. I wish you no (real) harm. I am no longer in love with you yet I remain…
yours ensnared,
J