Letter To The Ex

I want a copy of The Bell Jar.
(Or, rather, I want to be the kind of girl who owns a copy of The Bell Jar.)

I want to be thin and starving.
(Or, perhaps, I want to be the kind of girl who is thin and starving?)

It's 2 am and I can't sleep and I'm playing Tetris and reading Ariel and drinking green tea because it's Good For You.

I wish we still talked.

I'd like to talk to you now, and I know you're still awake because it's only 1 where you are and anyway you never go to bed before 3.

This is one of those nights where I miss you and wish I didn't. I don't want to be the kind of girl who misses you.

(I don't know if that's because I want to be the kind of girl who doesn't miss anybody, or because I want to be the kind of girl who still has you.)
(I don't know if the distinction matters.)

One year and eight days ago I visited you and you asked me where I wanted to sleep. I said I'd take the extra mattress because I am an idiot.
(Later, I told you I didn't know it was a hint.)
(Later, I told you I thought it might be a hint but I was scared.)
(I knew it was a hint. I wasn't scared. I was at my highest weight ever.)
If I had slept with you then, would we have figured out how to work when we both had time to devote to that?
If I had slept with you then, would I be sleeping with you now?

You made me believe in Ever After, you know.
One year and eight days from now we'd have our own apartment in the cities and I'd be doing company work and choreographing and you'd be continuing that start-up of yours and we'd scrape by. We'd have a little kitchen table with a tablecloth from the thrift shop and a vase with fake flowers because real ones are too expensive. We'd have arguments about dinner because if I ate at all it would be vegetables and tofu and you, well, you don't do plants, really. I'd love those arguments. I'd carry those arguments with me in my jacket pocket and turn them over in my hands until they became so worn we'd have no choice but to have them again, and maybe this time one of us would break. I'd carry those arguments into bed with us and as your nails dug into my back they'd feel my spine and ribs and muscle and no fat whatsoever and you'd sound worried and I'd laugh and tell you that as long as I could wake up to you, I'd keep waking up.