there is no taco emoji

It's like I'm some millennial idiot reading then re-reading your text messages. Like it's some high tech voodoo and I am summoning energy on you somehow. The TV flashes random advertisements for cosmetic products I don't actually need. All I can do is scan my eyes over what you said... well what you typed.

"Hey great chat! See you around maybe."

I feel like I have been waiting on this sort of interaction with you for a while. I see you out. I'm not stalking you or anything. Our city is small and I'm not giving up my friends. Your stubborn ass isn't either. We are grown ups. Grown ups stuck in some never ending summer of loud music and unpaid college loans. But grown ups none the less. We run into each other trying to look affected in the divey bar or walking our smallish apartment friendly toy dogs. You say hello but never anything more than that. I was graced with a text this time though...

Never mind that I devotedly brought you a lunch along with mine for three months when we were scarf folding slaves over a summer. Never mind that I'm only one of three people that know you refuse to watch Sixteen Candles because your parents forgot your birthday once too. Never mind that you used to bend me over some shelf in the walk in fridge of the bar you worked at. Never mind that every time I run into you on the street like we did early last week and I start getting all sweaty and gross and in love again, all you can TEXT me is THAT?

I read the stupid words over and over. Why did you use an exclamation point? What kind of wildly enthusiastic tone were you trying to pepper such a safe message with? Why am I freaking out so badly over seven words? None of them are 'eviction' or 'pregnant'. And then I see the word. The one word that is making my brain melt like some EZ Bake Oven cake left too long. 'MAYBE'. You said "see you around MAYBE"? What does that even mean? I see you all the time. I see you when you are shopping with that pre-packaged Asian child you pass off as an adult girlfriend. No really, she seems nice and of age. I am just jealous. Naturally.

That was the beauty and tragedy of our relationship though, wasn't it? Keeping me wanting more. Making me jealous. Holding tenderness just over my head like I'm some kind of pet. But I loved it. And I loved you. And I kind of love the way I keep obsessively looking at my phone. But I know you're not a two time texter type. I'll live off the stupid sentence until I see you again. With my luck I will be on a date with some disinterested English dude. Some kind of man to make you roll your eyes and maybe also feel kind of sad that I'm with someone possibly interesting and storied. Or do you even care?

I know you do. This is our dance. We're both monsters for each other. You'll eventually break Miss Chinese America's heart. Probably around a major holiday, as that is your poetic style. Maybe you will move down the street from me. I'm sure I'll see you at the corner store. The English guy will be out of the picture for sure by then. Wanting someone you know well is always so cyclical. Falling into one another's world like old friends, but with a layer of make up sex. We will go get tacos at the beach and create more layaway memories. Paying into some epic movie fever dream romance that might not happen. Listening to sludgy whiny noise and pretending (maybe learning?) to be in love while looking for the next best thing.