The truth is, you had a bubbling sense of joy when you reached out to Travis. Like a giddy 18 year old again. And then got immediately smacked into reality of what the hell are you doing, reaching out to someone you haven’t spoken to in almost a decade. He asks “how’s life” to your overly enthusiastic intro text asking if he “still had the same number.” This came after he liked two of your Instagram stories referencing college, the time when you knew each other. It has been so long but you reached out, obviously, in hopes of proving after all these years, the guy that never loved you, actually loved you.

• Readers: this is my spark notes of “Who is Travis?” I met Travis in my friends dorm room in 2014. We’d flirt here and there whenever we saw each other and then tried to be a little more intentional, went to a few date parties, had a few sleepovers and eventually crashed and burned out. He was non-committal and you were a real bitch when you wanted to be.

You immediately get to work on your tight five comedy routine for your response to him. You type out as many of the wittiest things you can think of to answer his question. You say “Ha life. Life is amazing in LA. I’m writing a book and I’m making a movie. I’m gonna be a therapist and I’m trying to get on the show survivor – ha ha ha.” You giggle to yourself. Only to realize you’re foaming at the mouth again.  Entirely for yourself. Because the thing that slaps you to reality, that thing is the awareness that he is not going to reply with the same amount of wit or put as much thought into what he’ll say. Or at least you think. Because you don’t even know if he ever loved you. So who are you doing this for? Obviously You. Me. Yourself, whatever. You’re singing and dancing and performing these one woman shows to audiences of one. And you’re performing for someone you’re not even sure wanted a ticket to the performance.

He responds to your quip with something a little more clever than you were expecting, what a nice surprise. A surprise. That’s how you remember Travis. That the first time you did drugs, you said to your friends, with hearts in your eyes “call Travis,” despite barely knowing him. You were 18. You You can’t really tell him how important it is to be able to look back and see that as a real core memory for that time of your life, but it is. He drove you around Fayetteville, Arkansas listening to music while your brain rushed with serotonin from the molly. You already surface level loved him before, and now you’re on this drug that makes you really love everyone so readers, take note of how vulnerable this was. But Travis was nothing short of respectful and caring and wonderful. We spent hours together without as much as holding hands. It’s a tragic world we live in when that is surprising and applause worthy but here we are.

You were always obsessed with Travis because it felt like he really saw people. No bullshit. He saw you immediately and you immediately saw him. It felt like a relief to meet Travis amass the sea of people with questionable belief systems and priorities. All you know is you loved him in a way that felt shameful so maybe that’s why he ran or you ran or you don’t even remember who ran that’s how foggy things are for in your memory. But you do know you probably loved him a whole lot more than he loved you. And he might still prove you wrong. But maybe that’s why you haven’t gone back to ever explore it. It was like rejection in its most subtle form. And you made sure not to ever get rejected ever again.

*Enter slew of absolutely ridiculous relationships to prove a point to not only yourself, but the world.  You are lovable, you scream. You scream this for years. Look at the title of this blog post. You’re still screaming it.

Anyways, his response still lacked depth but you’re conflicted! Because you start to feel those little butterflies again. You remember how innocent your love for him was. You imagine him blurting out that he’s always loved you, as if it’s a song off The Tortured Poets Department. But the butterflies get shot down with small talk questions like “how long is your masters program?”

Sigh. Hey. Do you love me yet? That’s what you really want to discuss. But you don’t send that crazy text… yet.

You used to have this invisible and imaginary rule of never speaking an ex’s name ever again, let alone talking to them. Granted, Travis isn’t even really an ex, but you still were obviously affected deeply by him. But you never really addressed that because that was too vulnerable. You never reached out after things flamed out and maybe that was good but maybe it was weak considering you could have just said “hey.” But you love the idea of not being affected by anyone or anything. You are full speed ahead without ever looking back. You wore this badge of honor that said look at me I don’t need a single soul as some effort at reverse psychology for strength. And then you started meeting people who didn’t subscribe to this belief: I.e. lesbians. And you had to fucking get out or get with it. So begrudgingly, you started warming to the idea. Mostly as you began to have ex’s that you could potentially talk to. You immediately talked to Bridge after you two broke up, hell you were going to the movies together, and then you’d stop talking and then you would casually see each other on Christmas Eve as friends and honestly you’re so glad. It is so fun to keep people in your life? Who knew. Of course, you never had a reason to stay friends with Chris. You sadly would just half jokingly accuse each other of stealing the others personality so the friendship wouldn’t exactly be a healthy one. Sometimes you’d like to forget people completely but your brain is still constantly going hey do you love me yet or do you love me still? For a few people, at least. Like after all these years, you somehow believe the love was never lost and suddenly you are ready to take a cold plunge straight through it again. And you come to the conclusion, that you no longer want this badge of too cool. You took it off. And now you’re talking to some boy that you used to sleep in a twin bed with on occasion. Oof.  

Shit you just FaceTimed him. You get off the phone. Realizing the question of “Does he love you still?” is actually more of a “Did he love you ever?” But then you question yourself, do you still love him? Did you ever or were you just young and and energetic. Is this all for your ego? Another performance. Finding a little edge, and hanging off with one hand and saying look here, look here. You don’t know what it’s for. You think of him often. You actually wrote a poem about him once a few years ago. Anyways, you think that’s why you’ve always liked Travis. Maybe he liked you, or maybe he was just being nice and pretended to, either way the mystery was intriguing then, and it’s intriguing now.

It’s the next day now. You return to your blog. You’re sitting on your patio reflecting on your charming desperation. The older you get, the more you realize how much love you have had and still carry for all these people in your life. Your feelings are as tender as they were 10 years ago. You realize you’re a little off your rocker, but also you’re bursting with love and joy and excitement. You have always been like this. And you’d much rather live this way, singing and dancing and interrupting old lover’s day to remind them of you and whatever love that did or didn’t exist. You’d take this thrill over a marriage and kids any day.