Something, at least...

I see her message in my inbox, and my stomach grumbles the way it does when I’m late for something important. Fucking finally… something, at least. I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing or if I should've hit "send" at all. I wonder which 10% of my message she’s responded to, and which of the pieces that were most important to me she’s chosen to blow off completely. I wonder what lies within: unsolicited feedback of how I should behave? what I shouldn’t do? a veiled insult about my choices? I try to predict which form of smug or dismissive tone it’ll contain. I wonder if I should delete it without reading it, though I know I could never do that. I return to questioning why I sent her a message in the first place. Am I being needy? Am I letting her see that I spend way too long drafting something simple? Does she know the agony that goes into the intricate crafting of my deleted words? Does she know what I don’t want her to remember, that my tenuous hold on living without her suffers with every successful exchange? Are her crass and cold responses her way of telling me to get lost? Why would I need someone in my life who treats me and makes me feel like I’m not worthy of a cordial, complete or timely response? Well, it's something, at least...