A blog about heartbreak.

I want to text you oh-so passive aggressive things. I want to make cryptic Facebook status updates that you and you alone would know were about you. I want to change my picture to the hottest one I can find so you’ll know what you’re missing. I want to re-join OK Cupid and go on a 1000 dates in a week. I want to patron the places I know you frequent and coquettishly laugh and touch the arm of a man when I see you walk into the room. I want to yell, just a little bit, and throw something of fragility across the room. I want one of my good-looking but strictly platonic male friends to post on my Facebook wall with an inside joke you’ll never get. I want to leave you a drunk voicemail from the sidewalk outside of a loud bar. I want you to know how you hurt me and I want you to know you haven’t hurt me at all.

But these wants are just impulses, a fight-or-flight kneejerk reaction to perceived rejection. I must exercise restraint because what I really need right now is to keep my damn composure.

Composure is refraining from attention-seeking behavior that might make me feel better for 30 seconds but exponentially worse immediately thereafter when I don’t get the reaction I desired. It is being above pettiness, drama, desperation and running down the street crying with mascara running down my face.

Composure is just merely existing, simply and with nonchalance, and not allowing myself be blown over until this whole mess blows over.