I reread the text I’m going to send to him at least thirty times. It has to be perfect. It can’t be too lengthy, but it should be long enough to talk about me while engaging him in conversation — that’s what wiki-how says. I’ve watched hours of youtube videos, read dozens of magazine articles, and tirelessly studied statistics on healthy relationship structures. Send.
I just don’t understand why he doesn’t respond.
Every single word was calculated. Revise.
I type a redemption text. Maybe the first one was too strong. I use a laughing emoji to lighten it up. Send.
Idiot. I’ve already sent two in this conversation alone. I look stupid and insincere. Revise.
Still no response.
I’ll tell him it was the wrong person. You can say anything if you pull the “wrong number” line. He’ll respond then. It isn’t a weird text if it “was meant for my sister.” Send.
Still no response.
It’s simple. His phone must be off. It’ll be any minute now.
Hour now.
Day now.
Week now.
Month now.
I text him every day; I just don’t understand why he doesn’t respond.
Everything I said was perfectly calculated. I don’t understand.
He loves me, I’m sure. He’ll message soon.
“Poor thing, she’s been like that for years.”
“How did she even end up in here?”
“She went on a date with a guy, and when he cut it off she wouldn’t stop following him around. He got sick of it, and took her to court. And then she ended up here.”
“It simply amazes me how the human mind can be completely oblivious to the truth; it’s a shame really.”
The disheveled brunette kept mashing the keys on the fake pink phone, unaware of the nurses above her.
