i'm sitting here, thinking about you and wondering where you are.

i cut my finger five minutes before being done with yet another work shift. i can't remember how many days it's been but i know it's almost a year.

one year and ten days ago, you sent me a message out of the blue which both elated and terrified me. i didn't know where you had been nor what you were saying, all i know is that i saw your face pop up on screen.

your picture, however, was not the bright-eyed hopeful young man that i had fallen in love with. it was a sunken despair of a skull, a short buzzed cut instead of your bouncy curls. 

i waited to look at your message, allowing myself a little time to run around freaking out. i wanted so badly to know where you had been, what was going through your head. 

i remember being a kid, getting my finger poked for a simple test. the doctor secured the bandage over the top of my finger and i pouted. i said i wanted it wrapped around. she assured me this wouldn't stop the bleeding. later, when my mom was changing the bandage, i told her the same thing. she argued with me for a minute before giving in and letting me afix the bandage around, almost completely avoiding the wound. 

you tell me that you've been in rehab. you thank me for the birthday wishes. you ask how i'm doing. i could say anything. i'm at work, where i normally leave my phone sitting somewhere. passion and morale have been dying very shrlly, very steadily, and i have my phone in my pocket for any potential attention. i want so badly to be wanted that i compromise my work ethic. i could tell you i'm doing well, i could lie. i could tell you how terrible it feels to live without you. i could tell you i miss you.

instead, i choose to say you didn't need rehab. which, honestly, if that doesn't describe how i treated you to a T, then i don't know what will.

i don't deserve another chance with you. i don't deserve you but that isn't gonna stop me from trying it should but for once, i'm not listening to my gut. it's led me wrong before and i don't doubt the possibility of it leading me astray from the original outreach project.

but sending a love-ladened playlist in the mail when i sent a playlist to break up with you is both too obvious and also just as lazy?

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well, i did it. i sent you a playlist. in the mail. with a cd. with a cheesy card.