>When he was. Out. He did things, sometimes. Became boyfriends with Satan. Commit himself to life changing bullshit for no reason. Throw himself into the meat grinder daily, to feel....right? right.
>(You thought you could. Help? Fix? Hah. That’s the teenboppiest thing you could have ever thought.)
>You didn’t know when you’d see him again. How to run after him even if you wanted to. Nothing. You just had to....keep on without.
>Life settled into a different pace.
>Your phone buzzes, and that pace grinds to a screeching halt.
>It was so FUNNY, your anon. Three feet tall, the new Peter Dinklage. You actually kind of welcomed it--magic anons, and all. Makes you feel a real part of the community.
>Fitting that it’s fading as you check each new message. Your legs are growing, your self elongating back into your usual thin stretched self as you barely even notice aside from increased proficiency with your phone keyboard. Despite it your typing quirk is all over--periods, capitols, the whole shebang. You barely hit the right keys.
>Each new line you scan makes your heart beat harder. Your breath is coming fast now. The phone nearly slips in your hands.
>He’s ok. He likes this. He’s not anxious anymore.
>He could not cheat forever. In the end, it all went back--as it was Supposed to Be.
>You can’t cheat forever.
>You search your feelings. Feelings you’ve worked every day for a year for. Your boyfriend is back. What are you feeling?
>Your boyfriend is back and the biggest thing you feel is dread?
>The phone fully slips. It falls on the floor and you let it, rocking backwards onto the bed. All six feet of you now curls around itself, rocking slowly, compressing your chest. Breathing, breathing, breathing. Shaky. Unsteady.
>What kind of boyfriend ARE you?
