I’m told absence makes the heart grow fonder.

But right now all I feel is indifference.

“I can’t have a sexual relationship right now.”

I’ve stared at that text message a dozen times, and I still can’t piece it together.

 Because we were already sleeping together. Because the sex was great. Because I don’t want an actual relationship. Because you admitted you slept with someone else, only to find out that I had as well. Because I’m emotionally drained from everything else, so much so that I just don’t have the time or patience to care. Because it was the Friday before my best friend’s wedding and bizarre. Because I still need my pink panties back, the ones you stole from me while I was sleeping at your place. Because it’s fucking weird you stole my panties in the first place. Because I’m going to have to perform a monologue in front of you on Tuesday, and I’m desperately hoping you don’t remember how hard you came the week before—especially when you perform yours. Because I’m crossing my fingers no one notices where you left a bruise on my shoulder. Because testing the limits was never so much fun. Because I don’t know what went wrong.

I called you Hipster Boy to my friends. Even your name implied some sort of underlying counterculture preference, as did your music and your paintings and your intelligence. The way you stuttered was endearing, You gave hugs and wondered why I didn’t return them.

Maybe you smelled bad every time you tried to hug me. Maybe I’m a cold bitch. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was stoned. Maybe I just didn’t give a fuck. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t want you to know if (and how much) I cared. Maybe I don’t like hugs. Maybe I didn’t want to seem needy. Maybe I have boundaries. Maybe it was just the sex I was after, and none of those self-indulgent bits. Maybe I was oblivious to the entire thing.

Absence.

Instances.

Abstinence.

Maybe, absence makes the heart grow…smarter.