I'm sitting here listening to "Pictures of You."

But, I'm not looking at any.

Honestly.

"I'm starting to date other people," you said.

For about four seconds, my stomach did something strange. Flipped? Flopped, maybe.

But, then I was fine.

Really.

We've been broken up for months.

I could never tell you about the four second flop though. You would read too much into it.

Again.

You said that I sent "mixed messages."

You felt that my actions didn't always match my words.

I told you to go by my words.

You didn't believe.

Wouldn't believe.

Couldn't believe?

You saw any act of kindness as some kind of declaration of love.

I said, "I'm just kind of nice sometimes."

You didn't want to believe.

I tried to explain that I would act that way towards anyone who was once an important part of my life.

You wanted to re-write history and be the only person that has ever been important.

But, you knew better.

I think.

I wanted to be friends.

You said that you didn't believe in that.

I wanted to make a joke about unicorns and gay Republicans.

But, I didn't.

You'd call and ask if I missed you.

If I didn't answer quickly enough - or didn't say what you wanted to hear - you'd accuse me of breaking your heart.

If I said "yes," you'd accuse me of stubbornly ignoring my own feelings.

I began to cringe whenever the phone rang.

I was hoping we could, at the very least, take the high road with all of this.

Maybe end with some kind parting words.

You couldn't do that.

I'll respect your needs.

I want the best for you.

But, telling you that will only confuse you more.

I'm glad that you are dating other people.

Typing that didn't make my stomach flip or flop.

Take care of yourself.

Labels: short... fiction?