You came back to me today. The letters forming your name on my screen were a swift thrust into a future where all the past pain was worth it. All the waiting and frustration, all the late nights watching the same movie over and over again. Just hoping to find a piece of you there. All those things were finally paying off, I no longer felt like an insane fool deluded by the idea of true love… Oh, but the truth hit me like a freight train when the things you said cut like razor blades. When I read the words you spelt out with venom, I was taken aback. The future I had seen in the split second before I read your diatribe was torn to shreds and I was left with the realization: I still am that insane fool deluded by the idea of true love.

I did my best to retort everything you said, with kindness, and understanding. You shot back with fire and the intent to hurt me. I spent time, unimaginable amounts of time, contemplating every word you said and every word and sentence I constructed. I couldn’t let this opportunity be wasted. Every response had to be calculated and perfect, just in case this were the last time. The last time… Like every time before it. You’d be gone without a goodbye. Without the glimmer of hope, teasing another response. I had you then, right then! In that moment, sitting in the palm of my hand. Yet, you were a thousand miles away with me in yours. Holding me out in front of you, as if you were giving blood. Closing your eyes and cursing the anticipation. Every response another prick, your disdain growing with each. I could feel your grip through the words on my screen. You crushed me further with every letter.

In the spaces between the words I found something though. The delusion perhaps, of an old fool. You felt so angry, so sad, so God damned hurt—BUT—you felt! You were feeling us again. It was clear I wasn’t insane, just for a moment my insanity transitioned to clarity and the future from before, was no longer delusion. If we’re destined to do this forever, so be it. I’ll live, as I have for years. Your disregard for my personage is not a feeling I am stranger to. The feelings I get from the slivers of hope shining through your occasional acknowledgement, far outweigh the feelings of despair from our normal existence. I’ll continue to sit in my comfortable exile. Waiting, for the chance you may rescue me from it (if even for just a moment) as you tend to do. You can say all you want about the person I was, you can call him names, but I hope eventually you’ll realize I’m not him anymore. No, now I’m something you created. With the love you once shared you made me just this: an insane, deluded, fool.