Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires. Francois de La Rochefoucauld

I finished my 538 page novel two nights ago. I'm proud of myself. Its a collection of not very cohesive,anxiety filled love stories. Here is an excerpt:

This was the last night she was going to lay in bed waiting on his text. The very last night. She was going to wait one more hour for him to respond, and then she was going to sleep.

In Two hours she was going to be dreaming of a different person.

In Four hours and she was going to forget of his existence.

In Six hours he was going to text her back with a sweet “Good Morning, Sorry I did not get back to you but I was *insert reasonable excuse for verbally standing her up here*

In Six hours and one second she was going to forgive him.

But in the infinite space between this second and the next, she was waiting patiently for him to respond. She laid in her bed listening to the cicadas and the crickets and the distant dogs barking.  Her mind was busy thinking of every single situation to why he was not responding except the one excuse he’ll have. She laid and wondered what girl he was kissing at this very moment. Whose thumbs were his thumbs too entangled with to text her back?

Was she tall and slender, with the body that clothes fall on and off of perfectly? Or was she all curves that crave to be touched? She laid in her bed and assumed the perfect combination of both. She assumed that the girl he was whispering to had a voice that was naturally musical. That the girl had always had smooth shaven skin, with a hereditary glow that comes out in the summer and lasts through the winter. Her hair had to be dark. Dark and wavy with a sheen that makes glass look dull. He was burrowing his face in the nape of her neck, and inhaled a her scent of vanilla and light musk. Her beauty magnified by the moonlight while they slow danced to a string quartet by the waterside. He never took her dancing anymore.

Maybe she was a redhead! With light auburn hair and mint green eyes. Had’nt he dated a girl like that before? They ran into eachother at a coffee shop, or a bookstore, or an old record store and ordered/grabbed the same thing. There was no awkward conversational fumbles that suggested they had forgotten eachother. They recognized eachother instantly and they had to catch up on old times! And she was the one he took out dancing in the moonlit waterside!

But the hour had passed, and she gave him thirty more minutes. And after no response, she drifted into sleep. A dreamless,empty sleep. Without any dizzying thoughts, spiraling conundrums, or worrisome daydreams.

Her phone buzzed once, and she awoke to read “Sorry was busy, I love you”

And even if it were total bullshit, even if he had been running around with both of those girls, because he said those last three words, she would have been okay.Because he responded.