[ the mention of his dad and college in the same sentence kicks up the kind of concern that would have her asking "are you okay?" if it had happened recently, but it's more likely that it happened at least a year ago, so it's easy to curb that impulse. but then he's repeating back to her that he's not mad, and she's just taking a second to read over everything he's texted her a couple more times, trying to figure out to explain-
well, how to explain.
and then there's that last one. shit. shit. ]
I don't regret it.
[ gets typed out and sent at a speed that would be embarrassing if it was in pretty much any other context. but no, that's actually the last thing she wants him to think, so she's going to just- pull the emergency break on that train of thought right away. not even letting it leave the station, no sir. but now she's accidentally doing that thing that she's been guilty of since the very first day she gave him her number, and that's typing out a few sentences, reading them back, then deleting them all just to start over again. she did it enough times that "not the dot dot dots again, nance! it's practically torture!" became a thing. it appears she hasn't kicked the habit. but-! how she words things, phrases things... that's important to her. she's never been good at verbally expressing her feelings, good or bad, until they're practically bursting out of her- it's something she still struggles with way too much. but getting the chance to write them out? that she can do. writing she can control.
and maybe it's not even all that serious. but it could be? maybe it should be. she doesn't know.
okay, enough dot dot dot torture. ]
I didn't apologize because I thought you were going to be mad at me. I apologized because there were things in that total mess of drunken rambling that I know I should have said two years ago, and other things that I've thought about saying since then, but didn't. And it's not like it's something I've been torturing myself over or anything, but sometimes that impulse to reach out would creep up, yeah, but I knew it would have been crazy selfish to do it.
But apparently that isn't something I'm too concerned about when I'm drunk.
And it's just so ridiculous, because the thing that made me pick up my phone and actually text you in the first place? I was fully convinced that if "Waiting for a Girl Like You" was really your favorite song, that meant you must have somehow completely forgot what it was, and why it means so much to me. [ that... sure was present tense. she should fix that. ... except there's nothing to fix. shit. yeah. maybe it really is still an important song to her. for a lot of reasons, not just because that's the song that was playing when they- yeah. no. it's because he sang it to her, okay, said it was hers. and the thought maybe stung enough that it might have totally been one of the things she confessed to her mom that night - how could steve just forget? ] But then it turned out you didn't forget. Which was, apparently, enough to completely undo any effort I've made towards letting go of all that other stuff.
[ ... solid work. she's okay with all of that, reading it back. ... no, wait. ]
So I'm sorry for doing that, for digging all of that up. I know it was a lot of compliments, nice things, but I've always felt like... Because I missed my chance to say all of those things when it would have actually maybe counted for something, saying them now would just be really selfish. Too little, too late. And it was. It does feel like that.
[ too late forrrr what, nance? you loser. ]
Wow, that is all so, SO dramatic. This hangover is really kicking my ass. Maybe we should just forget about it. Can we still do that?
tfln; @babysitters
[ the mention of his dad and college in the same sentence kicks up the kind of concern that would have her asking "are you okay?" if it had happened recently, but it's more likely that it happened at least a year ago, so it's easy to curb that impulse. but then he's repeating back to her that he's not mad, and she's just taking a second to read over everything he's texted her a couple more times, trying to figure out to explain-
well, how to explain.
and then there's that last one. shit. shit. ]
I don't regret it.
[ gets typed out and sent at a speed that would be embarrassing if it was in pretty much any other context. but no, that's actually the last thing she wants him to think, so she's going to just- pull the emergency break on that train of thought right away. not even letting it leave the station, no sir. but now she's accidentally doing that thing that she's been guilty of since the very first day she gave him her number, and that's typing out a few sentences, reading them back, then deleting them all just to start over again. she did it enough times that "not the dot dot dots again, nance! it's practically torture!" became a thing. it appears she hasn't kicked the habit. but-! how she words things, phrases things... that's important to her. she's never been good at verbally expressing her feelings, good or bad, until they're practically bursting out of her- it's something she still struggles with way too much. but getting the chance to write them out? that she can do. writing she can control.
and maybe it's not even all that serious. but it could be? maybe it should be. she doesn't know.
okay, enough dot dot dot torture. ]
I didn't apologize because I thought you were going to be mad at me.
I apologized because there were things in that total mess of drunken rambling that I know I should have said two years ago, and other things that I've thought about saying since then, but didn't.
And it's not like it's something I've been torturing myself over or anything, but sometimes that impulse to reach out would creep up, yeah, but I knew it would have been crazy selfish to do it.
But apparently that isn't something I'm too concerned about when I'm drunk.
And it's just so ridiculous, because the thing that made me pick up my phone and actually text you in the first place? I was fully convinced that if "Waiting for a Girl Like You" was really your favorite song, that meant you must have somehow completely forgot what it was, and why it means so much to me. [ that... sure was present tense. she should fix that. ... except there's nothing to fix. shit. yeah. maybe it really is still an important song to her. for a lot of reasons, not just because that's the song that was playing when they- yeah. no. it's because he sang it to her, okay, said it was hers. and the thought maybe stung enough that it might have totally been one of the things she confessed to her mom that night - how could steve just forget? ] But then it turned out you didn't forget. Which was, apparently, enough to completely undo any effort I've made towards letting go of all that other stuff.
[ ... solid work. she's okay with all of that, reading it back. ... no, wait. ]
So I'm sorry for doing that, for digging all of that up.
I know it was a lot of compliments, nice things, but I've always felt like...
Because I missed my chance to say all of those things when it would have actually maybe counted for something, saying them now would just be really selfish. Too little, too late.
And it was. It does feel like that.
[ too late forrrr what, nance? you loser. ]
Wow, that is all
so, SO dramatic.
This hangover is really kicking my ass.
Maybe we should just forget about it. Can we still do that?