I'm not a baby

Dear friendo.

I am not a baby.

Do I have a massive throbbing absolutely inappropriate crush on you? Yes, totally. Did I expect response to the message within a decent time interval, like we've had for the last two months? Yes of course. But I did not. And it's okay. I'm a goddamn grown-up adult man, and I understand people have other things going on in their lives, sometimes things get forgotten, and sometimes you're just overwhelmed with everything else happening you don't want to think and reply. Happens to me all the time. Heck, I'm probably the biggest perpetrator of these crimes.

So when you apologize for not replying within the four-to-six hours window we've established for one another, and explain that you were on a social media break for the weekend and that you should have informed me earlier and it was rude to not have told me, it's a bit strange, yeeah. Like I said, ew you, stop that. I don't mind, I'm an adult. I'd mind even less if you didn't reply at all when you didn't want to.

Sometimes an oversupply of words communicates less than lack of them. I imagined it was such a situation. But the words came back in, and hope flooded in.

It's not the fighting that kills, it's not the wounds, as any warrior who's fought will tell you. It's the hope that gets you. You learn to dismiss hope, be completely cynical and a heart of stone, and you live. To see another day.

Perhaps that life is not worth living, as much, but not dying is better than dying. Always.

Fuck hope. Fucks shit up.

Sorry as I was saying, I'm not a baby, no need for apologies, lets go back to our incessant what shall we call it whatever until one of us -- and that's not going to me we know that for sure -- is tired and this fizzles out. I'm not a fizzler.

I dare you, double dare you.