4am thoughts stored in iphone notes;

half of this i wrote from your bed, while you faced the wall, sleeping soundly next to me. unaware of the fact that i was wide awake, passing the time, filling the notes in my phone with words i couldn’t say, waiting for your snores to turn into morning stretches, stars to turn into sun.

time is a funny concept. the way it passes slowly, but all at once. the cliche “it seem like only yesterday” phrase that has us constantly reliving the days that have come and gone, wondering how things could be so different when you didn’t even see them changing.

but time is a funny concept. it can bring you full circle, right back to the last place you’d ever thought you’d be. right back to that familiar bed, and that familiar body. and right then, it feels like nothing’s different.

but time is a funny concept. because you’re thinking that his hands feel exactly the same as they felt all those years ago. and you’re thinking that you fit together exactly the same as you did all those years ago. and you’re thinking he laughs exactly the same as he laughed all those years ago. but he and you, you are not exactly the same as you were all those years ago.

and so time is a funny concept. i was in love all those years ago. but my heart was also shattered all those years ago.

it was shattered by a boy struggling to figure it all out. an impossibly tall boy, with dark hair, and football dreams, and a huge heart to boot.

and i had been in love before. the immediate kind, the childish kind. the kind where you say the words before you’re even sure if you mean them. but this wasn’t like that.

we were friends first. the way it should always be.

and then my heart broke, the way they always do.

and you’ve got a permanent rift. the pain has dulled over time, and mostly you forget it’s there. but i don’t think a heartbreak like that ever truly goes away. years from now you may still feel a whisper of pain echoing from that crack in your heart you thought had long since healed.

and seven years post-heartbreak, you find yourself wondering: “what if nothing changed?”…

i constantly wondered why he never let me all the way in. and maybe it’s my own fault. time and time again i answer his calls. return his texts. i come back fully aware of how he operates and i tell myself, “this time, i have no expectations.” and yet, somehow, i catch myself wondering: what if this time is different? what if this time he doesn’t run? what if this time he’s realized it’s been seven years, and here i am. what if this time he’s figured it out?

what if…those words could break a heart all on their own.

there have been others. but clearly i’m a masochist because, like i said: it’s. been. seven. years. and here i am. and i know that each time has an expiration date. experience has taught me to expect it. and each time the countdown begins with the inevitable question lingering: how long can we last this time?

but there are some things time can’t change. time can’t change the fact that you still feel you could be perfect together because maybe the timing was just bad before. that’s a thing, right? bad timing?

and time can’t erase that january night you drove over, parked your car on the street, crept through his yard, and snuck through the the basement door, while his family was asleep upstairs. and time can’t change the fact that when you accidentally run a red light, you’re reminded of the one he accidentally ran, with you in the passenger seat, both of you laughing the whole time. and suddenly you find yourself laughing alone. laughing so hard you’re crying – crying over that stupid little traffic light. and time can’t change the fact that no matter how bad you hurt, you still feel safe sleeping next to him. and time can’t change the fact that you can never quite shake the feeling that he might’ve been it. and you can’t help but think it was all bad timing.

because that’s a thing, right? bad timing?

but seven years post-heartbreak, you find yourself wondering: “maybe it will forever be bad timing. and maybe it’s time something changed…”

and you find yourself letting go. little bit, by little bit. it’s been seven years. seven years of him never fully being mine. because bonnie raitt was right, “i can’t make you love me if you don’t.”

and so, it’s been seven years of him running and me not being able to run quick enough to catch up. 

but now, the chase is ending, i need to catch my breath. and i think it’s finally time to walk.