Things Left Unsaid

It wasn’t until the sky was a murky pink that Astrid’s eyes finally opened. After hours of debating what to say, all I had was a headache and more confusion.

She opened her eyes, looked at me, and then dazedly glanced around. I watched the memories of the night crash over her as she settled back into her makeshift bed.

There was an almost unnerving silence as the pinks turned to blues.

“So… I’ve been trying to think about a response to what you said last night…”

Astrid gave me a confused look, but slowly the realization dawned on her.

“I have to go,” she scrambled for her things, but left me behind – confused and alone.

What the hell was that?

Without anywhere else to go, I laid back down in hopes that she’d return. I rolled over the different things I could have said.

“I love you too.”

The obvious option. Yet, it’d be a blatant lie. What was love? Was it really more than a word? Was it all that Astrid said it to be? I couldn’t possibly decipher the word, much less say it. It would be wrong and cause more problems. Hell, Astrid probably would have ran away without her flask; that’s how scary those words can be.

“Oh.”

A simple declaration of indifference. This would pose many more questions than answers, for both parties involved. Oh is a deadly word as much as a hopeful one. A slip of the tone and it sends one spiraling into a pit of wondering and waiting for the rest of the verbal punishment. Yet, oh can also be one of surprise and elation. So many words fill in the space of the simple sound but all of them are assumed.

“You’re drunk.”

This was undeniably true. However, saying it would make the whole situation seem like a joke. With the way Astrid ran off, I was fairly certain we both would have been left wondering if those three words were sincere.

 “Fuck you.”

Somewhere inside, an anger was boiling inside of me. All night I was waiting for her to wake up but dreading it all the same. I knew she’d leave or get pissed off. Astrid was wonderful when she was tipsy and things were progressing. But after the progression and alcohol wore off, she was impossible. She didn’t dwell on the past, she went on with life. She wasn’t one to contemplate, she just did. There was no way in hell she was going to stick around and discuss exactly what her confession meant. So, the fact that she decided to say those words angered me beyond belief. There she was, playing with my head and my feelings. She put worries and thoughts in my head just to twist them around and make me untangle the knots. In that sense, she was a conniving bitch and she deserved to be told to fuck off.

And of course, there was silence.

As much as my silence was killing me, it was probably the best option. By not saying anything, there were no false assumptions or misplaced answers. Instead, there was an absence of reaction. One that I could hopefully fill at a later date when all of my knotted thoughts are untangled.