The One Where It's Her Choice This Time...

Whilst watching an episode of friends and picking at my dinner which I could hardly stomache through a mix of last nights alcohol consumption and the butterflies he's left me with, my mind flashed back to yesterday. 3 months. 3 months since I've seen mr potential future. I'd given up on this fact and therefore named him mr non future, or 'twat' as I prefer when I'm in one of my better moods. I mean, I was never at that stage with him where I was moving my toothbrush into his apartment and calling him 'baby', but I was at that stage where I was left empty when he stopped calling. Stopped visiting. And stopped caring. Or was that me?
'1 New Email Message': "Hey. It's me. If you still want to remember who I am. I've been trying to call. So, get in touch, i'm not done."
I'm not done? What's that supposed to mean? I'm not done writing this email? I'm not done cooking my dinner? I'm not done with my new girlfriend?...I'm not done with us?
So I call. I'm never the girl who calls or texts first but he wasn't done, he said so. And neither am I. I mean, I haven't moved on since him, I'm constantly checking his email updates to see what he's been upto, and when I over hear his name, I can't help but turn around to hope it's him.
So I figure he wants to talk. About what? I'm still asking myself this as he's sitting in front of me, wearing those blue eyes which make me melt every time he looks at me, and that smile which he knows gets him away with anything. And I bottle it. I don't want to hear what he has to say. Pathetic, Coward, Stupid some might say. But no, just scared. So again I put off talking, like I have every time he's called and now I'm back there again. Regret begins to nibble away at me. So we don't talk. We don't fight. We don't cry. We simply kiss and make up. What's there to talk about now I tell myself? Everything. And when am I going to see you again? I don't know.
So I hide inside to risk the broken hearted. A place where I don't want to go again. A place where the air seems colder, the streets are lonlier and the light at the end of the tunnel is out of reach. And this is all my fault. I have a chance to fix this and I can't let it pass. HE wanted me to call. HE wanted to see me. HE wanted to talk. HE said he wasn't done. I hear a voice. Its that man at the end of the tunnel calling out. Maybe it's time I walk towards him and talk. Afterall, It's my choice this time.

Much Love, Is. xoxo