Page 35 of Love Letters from a Libra
“Debatable. Seriously, though, how long has it been since you heard from him? Like actual radio silence?”
“Almost a week.”
“A week? I know you’re fucking lying. You haven’t given the man time to miss you yet.”
“It’s not just the amount of time, it’s the change. We went from having fun conversations to one or two-word texts to nothing at all. It’s like talking to a completely different person at times.”
“Maybe he’s busy, broke his phone, or sick,” Rell offered, crunching on popcorn.
“Or maybe he’s doing exactly what guys always do: getting close enough to get what they want and then backing away once they’ve gotten it. I’m so stupid. I actually thought this was different.” I ran my hand through my hair again, tugging at the roots in frustration.
“You’re not stupid. You’re just a romantic in a world full of commitment phobes,” Rell clarified.
“Same difference. Like, you know, when you hear something click into place? It was like that, but with a person. Beingwith Jules felt like finding a missing piece I didn’t know I was missing.” I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to articulate the feeling.
“That’s either beautiful or terrifying,” Rell said.
“Apparently terrifying to him. I didn’t ask for anything serious, just basic communication.”
“You sure about that? You always fall for the potential. You read the connection before it finishes the sentence. And I’m sure the meditation instructor with the sexy man bun and those I-see-your-soul-eyes has never made another woman feel the same exact way.”
“That’s not fair. His locs are shoulder length, not a man bun,” I corrected. I knew I was focusing on the wrong part of his statement.
Rell nudged me with his elbow. “Listen to yourself. You’re defending a man who went from writing you poetry to sending you three words in the span of a week.”
“He never wrote me poetry,” I muttered.
“Not the point. Look, what I’m saying is you have a pattern. You dive in headfirst, giving these men the benefit of every doubt, reading cosmic significance into basic compatibility.” Rell set his glass down to give me his full attention.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “This isn’t about astrology, Z. It’s about emotional patterning. You can read the stars, predict Mercury retrograde down to the minute, but you still get blindsided by the same relationship dynamics over and over.”
The truth in his words stung enough that I drained my glass instead of responding immediately.
“So what am I supposed to do? Just assume every connection is meaningless and never get excited about anyone?” I asked finally, my voice smaller than I intended.
Rell shook his head. “Nah, you’re supposed to set your own damn boundary. Decide what you need communicated clearly, and then let him respond. Tell you everything you need to know. If he can’t meet basic expectations after you voice them, that’s your answer. No star charts required.”
“I hate when you’re right,” I admitted.
Rell bumped my shoulder affectionately. “I know.”
“This is different,” I insisted, though the comparison stung with its accuracy.
“Different how?”
“Because Jules is different. He’s not playing games or feeding me lines. He’s just real. He’s got his shit together. He listens, really listens when I talk, and he sees the parts of me that most people miss,” I gestured, making my wine slosh around in my glass.
“Or he’s really good at making you feel seen. Some guys have that down to an art form,” Rell pointed out.
I shook my head, my curls bouncing with the motion. “You haven’t met him. You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that you’re falling for someone who might not be falling at the same speed,” Rell said.
The simple truth hit me harder than I expected, stealing my prepared arguments. I stared at the wineglass, watching the liquid catch the light as it swirled slowly. Silence stretched between us, only with Rell crunching on popcorn and the distant bass from someone’s music in another apartment.
“I hate dating. Can I just adopt a cat and call it a life?” I questioned, finally looking up at him with a half-smile.
“You’d be sneezing. Besides, you like dick too much,” he reminded me by reaching over to squeeze my hand.
