By: Jeremy

We are the dumped. Downtrodden and reeling, we stand. We sit. We lay. We wrap ourselves in duvet and horde buckets of Ben & Jerry’s. Staring at lit-up screens, Facebook statuses—deciphering Tweets. From the unrequited and once requited. For glimpses of hope and rekindling. We have been dumped.

We are the lonely. We go out and drink and dance on bars in heels made of sequins and glitter. We ask the person leaning on us outside the back door, menthol in hand, for their name and number. A second time. We’ve no interest in following through. We attempt to fill voids. With gin and triple sec and casual sex and ignored texts. We tip the bartender more in a failed attempt at camaraderie. We are alone.

Our phones are traitors. Still subscribed to their every thought, theses devices light up at a glance, beckoning us with Foursquare check-ins with boys or girls that aren’t us. Instagrams filled with dinners they’re eating with someone else. They’ve changed their prof pic. Twice. They’ve deleted all evidence of us in the album. We escape from the duvet long enough to stop at McDonald’s and order two #2s. No onion. Our thoughts are traitors.

They confuse us. With attention. With indifference. With a more than friendly wave in passing. They send us a random text asking us how we’re doing. We debate their sincerity. We mull over possibilities for hours. They favorite a Tweet about being too hungover for life and like a comment aimed at us on Facebook. We pine. We confuse us.

They send mixed signals. They respond immediately and then don’t respond at all. They run into us at the gym and ask how we are. They do the awkward bro head-nod. We don’t touch. We don’t hug. We don’t acknowledge that we were once as necessary as air. We’re sending mixed signals back.

We will cry. We will sit on futons and lie facedown in apartment complex hallways, begging for the absence to be over. To friends. To strangers we’ve just met. We will lose our keys and wind up at their place and not be let in. We will send I miss yous and how are yous and I hate yous and leave me alones. We will be fine and we will be not fine and this will change in a matter of minutes. We will crawl back under the duvet and hope for busses to run over people on the streets. We will be unsure if we want them or us to be hit by the bus. We will cry more.

We will be okay. We will run into another. Not at a bar. Maybe at a gym. Or a bookstore. Or a café. Somewhere that’s helping us put ourselves back together. They won’t smoke menthols and they will be funny and charming and have the most beautiful blue eyes. Eyes like sky. Like rivers. Like the Mississippi after a long winter. We are okay.

Oh, hello!

Oh, hello!
We're Sarah and Kaitlyn, roommates from Milwaukee who started this blog to promote creativity and life.
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