I woke up at 3:01am and I saw you texted me.
You texted me at 11:56pm.
You asked if I had done my laundry yet.
Don’t ask me that.
You know who cares if I’ve done my laundry yet or not?
No one, except for myself, because holy fuck I really needed to do laundry.
But you shouldn’t care.
And I know you helped me fix my washer and dryer,
But don’t text me at 11:56pm and ask me about laundry, because that’s a really lame excuse to text me.
And you know that,
And I know that.
And we both also know that we’re over.
I know we’re over because those words came out of your mouth and tears ran down my cheek onto your chest and you said I was going to find someone better.
And then I spent some time drowning in sadness and crying as a solution;
Hoping it would help me breath again.
And you know what?
I can fucking breath again.
Except for when you text me about laundry at 11:56pm at night.
Because that sends a quick shot of rage and confusion through me and I have to remind myself that you still meant it when you said goodbye.
You’ve once again completely changed my mood.
This time it wasn’t from content to full flooding happiness.
Nor was it something that had me bleeding sadness.
This time it was from sleepy to wide-awake and bitter.
Proof that you still have control of me;
Handcuffs on my heart & I have no idea when I’ll get the keys back.
At 3:09am I text you back about how I finally did my laundry.
And now it’s 3:49am and I can’t sleep.