Me Hi, trouble. You okay? It sends. Too late to take it back. I stare at the screen. Has she read it? Fuck. I shouldn’t have sent it. She’s ghosting me. She doesn’t want to see me. She didn’t even come to check my stitches. I pace the mat, phone clutched in my fist. I feel crazy. Shit. Shit. Shit. I should’ve just let her go. But I swear I felt something. That spark my mom used to talk about. The one that tells you she’s it. The one. I wasn’t even looking. Two minutes pass. Still no reply. No read receipt. I consider throwing the phone into a wall. Or off a cliff. No. What if she replies? I
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a universal experience. and it sucks ass.
