Of last night.
My phone keeps blaring, and I finally shove my hand in my pocket.
I fell asleep fully dressed. On top of my blankets. In a bed that Tilda has never slept in.
Silencing my alarm, I stare at my phone.
I’ve never called in sick to work for emotional reasons. But as I work to swallow down my despair, I’m tempted.
It would be warranted.
But… I can’t sit here all day.
Can’t stand to sit with myself all fucking day.
I drag myself out of bed and strip on my way to the bathroom. A trail of laundry behind me.
I know my own motives.
IknowI wasn’t with Matilda for the fucking money.
But what I know doesn’t mean shit.
I need her to know.
IneedTilda to understand.
And I’m not sure how to accomplish that.
I squint against the light as I turn it on.
And I avoid my reflection in the mirror as I start the shower.
But I don’t avoid my thoughts.
I’ve earned every bad feeling I have.
I’ve earned them. But I’ll find a way to make up for them.
I’ll find a way to prove to Tilda that I love her.
That I…
I brace my hands on the edge of the sink as I gasp for breath.
I love her. So much.
I was going to tell you I love you.
But I found the letter instead.
The pain threatens to take me to my knees.
Because shelovedme too.
She was going to tell me today.
I was going to spend this morning hearing the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long.