Regrets. I’ve had a few. Trillion. Ugh.
I wish I could go back and not fuck things up with Mr Bene-don’tstayaway Comebacktome-batch. But just like Cher, I can’t turn back time. Unlike her I can’t pay surgeons to “fix” my face in the name of turning back years, but I feel that’s for the best.
I wish I could fix the situation and have a small ray of hope that maybe, perhaps, he will miss me too much to stay away. Fuck, how I pray for that.
But I know that this whole “opt out” bullshit was bound to happen sometime. Sooner or later. But why not later? MUCH LATER?! WHY?
I have to just move forward. But I can’t keep him out of my mind for long. Maybe I should be glad it blew up now, and not later. But. I’m not.
Maybe “the universe” or whatever is making me clear space for someone who isn’t all “not relationship material”, at arm’s length, always finger hovering over that damn “opt out” button. I pray to fuck that that’s what’s happening. But I don’t know. I’d really rather be waiting for the week and half’s time to roll by until Mr Benedick Comeoverandgiveittome-batch has time to come over. And give it to me. Please.
Ugh. I’m going to have to stop writing about him. I’m going to have to stop thinking about him. How can I stop wanting him? My body actually longs for his. Is he thinking of me? Longingly? I wish I knew. I wish I’d get an “opt back in” message. I’ve never wanted one of those so badly.
All of my friends will be glad that I’ve stopped talking about Bene-darling Come-eatmysnatch.
I can come up with these names all day. But I’ll stop. But I can’t stop hoping. Praying. Begging. Pleading. Longing.
Please Mr Benedick Cumback-to-me. Please come back.
This is the last post about him I’ll let myself write. But I miss him. Too much.