I Nearly Replied

Dear Delyara, He messaged me tonight. Not a long message. Just enough to disturb my peace. It was casual in the way messages like that often are. No apology. No real acknowledgment of what happened. Just a light sentence tossed into my evening as if history is something women are supposed to carry politely and men are allowed to re-enter whenever they feel lonely. I stared at the screen longer than I want to admit. The worst part is not that I considered replying. The worst part is that for a few minutes, I felt relieved that he had reached out at all. That’s the humiliating truth. There is still some part of me that feels wanted when someone who confused me decides to return, even if all they are really offering is more confusion. I hate that part of myself a little. But I didn’t reply. Instead I put the phone face down and sat with all the uncomfortable things that came up — the ego, the ache, the fantasy, the memory, the loneliness, the old hope trying to rise even though I know better now. I think healing is sometimes less glamorous than people make it sound. Sometimes it’s not a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just not sending the message. Sometimes it’s letting your body go through the grief of not returning to what once felt familiar, even when familiar was never really safe. I still wanted to reply. That’s the truth. But I didn’t. And tonight, that has to count for something.