Your calls, my kryptonite

I didn’t pick up the phone the first time it rang. Or the second time.  Not even the third time. I didn’t respond to the text that followed it all. This is so unlike me, I thought quietly. But then I realized something.

I’m getting stronger.

This was a sliver of willpower, something I’d never had much of when it came to resisting you. This was the part of the story where I got to become the girl who not only knew better, but knew better and acted on that knowledge. I almost felt powerful. It reminded me of a sailor resisting the Siren’s song; it reminded me of survival.

See, before all of this, I was just starting to be okay again. Maybe you were still on mind a lot, but I wasn’t hurting all the time anymore. I thought maybe I’d learned my lesson with you and I was ready to move on to the next one. But the funny thing about having people as lessons is that it usually turns into a “one step forward, two steps back” situation. Like, I have to hurt twice for every good thing we had or something. In other words, you’re kinda my kryptonite.

Perhaps we were just becoming too good at phasing each other out. Maybe this was just a test. Or maybe it was a chance at starting over, at starting better. How am I supposed to be able to tell?

What I do know is this. I am stronger than I thought because I didn’t pick up the phone. I may have paced the room in a mini panic attack, but I still didn’t pick up the phone. Also, I still think about you too much, but apparently I haven’t left your mind either. And finally, I can confirm that I still have no idea what I want out of this, same as you.

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