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I clicked send. The blue blurb of unthought out emotions sprawled across my phone screen like a neon sign reading “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Something in my gut broke off, probably my instincts tired of being ignored, or misunderstood, it was too hard to tell at this point. I knew what I meant to say, or at least what I wanted to mean, but the gap between my thoughts and my ability to voice them seemed to grow at a rate faster than my tongue could catch up to.

I’m sorry.

I sent the dauntingly short sentence after the three dots at the bottom of our text thread appeared, then went away. It continued until you thought out your response of “okay”. I felt the tightness in my throat begin, my vision blurring from what I was sure would be an infinite waterfall of tears, as I tried to type another rambling paragraph. But my fatigued fingertips couldn’t think of an explanation for why tonight I decided to fold into myself, for why tonight would be the night I most wished for a rewind button.

I love you.

There were no dots this time, only a confirmation that you had read, and probably deleted, my last attempt at conveying whatever feelings I had.
That night instead of the peaceful bliss of sleep filled with dreams of freedom and self-discovery, I was tormented by that three month thread of messages. It seemed too short, too abrupt, like a bad ending to a short story. I scrolled as far up in that text thread as I could, the fluorescent glow probably illuminating any tear I allowed to escape my guard. My rapid upward swipes became my rewind button, my only way to remember what I had just thrown away.

Kelly Stone 18′ || Literary Staff

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