Writing - I Almost

Writing - I Almost

I almost clicked on your name tonight.  I saw you pop up for but a scant second the first time in a while I had caught it.  The green blinking button of 'available' taunted me on.  I almost clicked on your name tonight.  But I didn't.

I didn't because I didn't have anything to say.  I didn't because I had nothing to talk about.  I didn't because I imagined you would not be interested in anything I had been doing.  That we had become such different people, living different lives.  That what we remembered of one another was from a decade hence.  I didn't click on your name because I didn't want to have to explain.  I didn't want to sort out whether or how much joy I should convey, how much happiness.

I didn't because I don't know how honest I can, or should be with you.

I didn't click on your name because we haven't spoken in forever, we haven't left one another a message in...years.  We do this strange little dance around each other on our birthdays, leave cookie cutter messages and cookie cutter 'like' clicks.  I wonder if you are caught up with the whirlwind that is my world.  I wonder if I'm caught up with yours.  I can't be.  We haven't spoken.

I didn't click on your name because that's energy, to reconnect.  To hear the stories about.  To hear you talk about your dog or your cat, your girlfriend or your boyfriend.  Your wife.  Your husband.  Your son.  Or daughter.

Or your new car.

I didn't click on your name because you found me boring, a decade before.  You found me boring because I wasn't worth getting to know, in your mind at least.  Maybe that's still true.  Maybe you'd still find me boring.  That's alright.  I understand that.

I didn't click on your name, because I'm afraid the sound of your laugh might not be the same as I remember it.