Crave

I don’t even know what’s going on anymore— Feelings? Vibes? Emotional acid reflux?

Could be unresolved trauma.

Could be that I latched onto you like a clingy koala after a divorce I pretended didn’t bruise me.

Seven months out and I’m so fine.

(You hear that? SO. FINE.)

The past?

Oh please— That nightmare? Old news.

Archived. 

Ghosted. 

Blocked spiritually and digitally.

If healing were a sport, I’d be MVP by now.

I’m not haunted.

Just... mildly inconvenienced by echoes.

But this?

This you-and-me, time-zone tango, silent-movie-of-a-situationship thing?

It’s starting to itch.

I’m a little frustrated.

Not in the dramatic, throw-my-phone kind of way.

More like the slow-boil, “Wow, is this it?”

kind of frustration.

We send memes.

We forward YouTube links.

Sometimes we even talk.

(What a thrill. Be still my beating heart.)

But I want more—and not in the needy, rom-com heroine way.

I want raw, unfiltered, let-me-see-your-face-when-you-talk kind of more.

I want your laughter in real-time, your eye-rolls live and unbuffered.

I want to know if this chemistry is real or just my imagination on a caffeine bender.

I want our first date.

A long, awkwardly adorable walk in the park.

Or maybe just hours of jumping from silly to serious, like emotional parkour.

I want to say good morning, good afternoon,good night—not to my screen,but to you—with a smirk, a stretch, and messy hair.

But alas.

You’re busy.

You’ve got a life.

And I’ve got Jakarta sunsets while you’re just getting your coffee in Casablanca.

Cute.

Meanwhile, my patience is doing yoga in the corner, and I’m starting to resent time zones like they’re exes.

So yeah.

I’m craving something real.

Something warm-blooded.

Something more than blue ticks and haha reacts.

Hope you’re craving it too.

Hope you’re not just vibing with the idea of me.

Anyway.

Good night, Romeo.

Or good afternoon.

Or whatever the hell time it is in your world.

—Juliet, slightly unhinged but weirdly charming.