It's been a while since I wrote. Most of the time, I was either too busy, or did not think it was worth whatever free time I have left in my hands.
Today seems a bit different.
Have you ever felt... replace-able? Times when you think not being where you are would not make things any different. Times when you could disappear into thin air while crossing the street, and not one of your companions would notice.
Even when they don't mean anything by it, people would still slip sometimes.
Things like, "Why don't you sit next to me?" when I'm seated right there, or "could I hang out there with you instead?" when I'm right across the table.
And even those little slips hurt a lot. Even when I know they don't mean I'm any less of a companion just because I'm always...present, or just because her company's more refreshing than mine, or because I need not be asked to come along anymore. But the thought of being disposable bugs me enough to launch me back into writing mood after all these months, I guess.
Is it because I'm always there?
A little part of me wants to slip away to somewhere else for a month, or for two. Or miss an all-nighter sometimes, or a drink at the nearby bar. Or hang out with different people this Friday night. Is there merit in being missed? Or in sitting at the far end of the table for a change?
Ha. Look, that's where I am right now. And not much is different.
Haha. Drama queen. I hate myself when I'm like this.
It seems I'm just biding my time until the moment comes when it slaps me full on in the face. Hopefully, by then, I will have mustered up enough guts to pretend I'm totally OK with it.
Maybe. Maybe. For now, I sit still, quiet, and waiting. Maybe they'll eventually come looking for me again, like they used to.
Maybe I just miss being missed.
