Beer and rum on my breath, phone in my hand, all alone. Would she have wanted to hear from me on a Friday night? It wasn’t late, but maybe late for her. She was on my mind, and I didn’t want her to leave it.
But would a Friday night confession lead to a Saturday morning regret?
I decided on a text rather than a call. I type something slightly obnoxious, yet funny. She’ll get it. She always does. I wait, telling myself I’ll tell her something more if she texts back or calls, something I’ve wanted to say for a while.
I wake up the following morning to a missed text message. She was amused. I smile, but it’s too late to say what I wanted. The moment’s passed. I collect myself and get ready for the day.