Monologue About Her: Part One of Four

It’s 5 in the morning and all I can think about is you. I go through your Instagram. Those aesthetic accounts you follow. Meaningless quotes of misunderstood media. Made by teenage girls with nothing better to do. But I look out for the ones Liked by you. Are they about me? You never had a thing for subtlety. But I’m such a long lost memory to you. Have you forgotten about me? I lost all your messages. All our messages. I can’t read through them again. Feel what I felt. When I believed them to be true. We’re so different Yet we fit so well. I was yours. You reminded me of that. It broke your heart To know I wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t be what you wanted. You were so pessimistic I blamed it on your trauma. The songs you sent me were so sad. I wanted to make you happy To be your happiness. But you wouldn’t let me. I felt so helpless. Now I only listen to songs that make me cry. I didn’t even know them when I knew you. But there’s that connection somewhere. In the lyrics maybe Or just how they sound. They remind me of us. We ended at such an awful time. I closed in on myself. Talked to fewer people. Felt like I lost a part of myself. All I had left was lust And that got me nowhere. I left my love with you. You were never into films back then. I bet we’d watch them all now. Matching our lives to theirs. We found each other In the end. Will we? It’s been nearly 4 years. You’re probably a completely different person. Not the same person that was so obsessed with me. Maybe you worked on yourself. Worked past the insecurities that I tried to help you through. I hope you’re happier now But I wonder if you’d be happier with me. Why did you end it that day On the phone Crying for hours. I wanted to believe what you said. I couldn’t sleep. I never picked up my jumper I never saw you again. All I have is screenshots. Walking the dog Prom Friends’ parties The Harry Potter studios. Copies of memories I will never relive Never know how much these moments mean to me Until it’s gone. I think about texting you every day. I’d like to think you’d want me to. I hope you would respond. Maybe we’ll meet again. Somewhere. Will we recognise each other? Will we even acknowledge each other? Will you ignore me? Will I confess my love to you? Nothing feels real without you. Like I’m just playing out a scene. We weren’t perfect. But nothing is. Our love was natural Naturally imperfect.