It’s Not Even September Yet, and I’m Already Anxious

 It’s not even September yet.

September 18 is still weeks away. 

And somehow, my brain has already decided that this is the perfect time to panic. 

Very considerate of it.

He’s coming back to Indonesia. And I’m going to see him.

That sentence should be simple. It isn’t.

I keep wondering…

Would it be different this time?

Or are we just going to stand there, look at each other, exchange polite smiles, say a few awkward words, and pretend we’re two people who have absolutely no history together?

Just two polite strangers. Except we’re not strangers. 

That’s the problem.

Strangers don't have years of memories stored somewhere in their heads.

Strangers don't know each other's habits.

Strangers don't know what the other person sounds like when they're angry, happy, tired, annoyed, or pretending they're fine.

Strangers don't have a whole collection of moments they wish they could either relive or delete.

And yet, maybe that's exactly what we're becoming. 

Polite strangers with history.

What a lovely little tragedy. 

Could probably put that on a greeting card.

“Congratulations! You used to mean everything to each other. Now please enjoy this awkward small talk.”

😂

I know I'm overthinking this. I know.

But I'm also not going to pretend that seeing him again doesn't scare me.

Because I don't know what version of myself is going to show up that day.

Maybe I'll be completely fine. 

Maybe I'll see him and think, Oh. Okay. So this is what it feels like. 

Maybe I'll be nervous for five minutes and then wonder why I spent three weeks stressing about it Or maybe I'll see him and suddenly remember everything.

The good things. 

The bad things. 

The things I miss. 

The things I absolutely do not miss.

The person I was when I loved him. 

The person I became after everything fell apart.

And maybe that's what I'm really anxious about. Not him.

Me.

What will seeing him do to me?  

Will it reopen something I've worked so hard to close?

Will it make me hope again? 

Will it make me realize that I don't want him anymore?

Will I still want answers? 

Will I still want him to look at me the way he used to?

Or will I finally understand that whatever we were is something that belongs to the past?

I don't know. And I hate not knowing.

I want to prepare myself. 

I want some sort of emotional instruction manual.

Something like: 

Step 1: See him. 

Step 2: Don't cry.  

Step 3: Don't say anything stupid.

Step 4: Don't fall in love again. 

Step 5: Go home. 

Easy.

Except life apparently doesn't come with instructions And hearts are notoriously terrible at following them anyway.

The weirdest part is that I don't even know what I want to happen.  

That's probably the truth I'm having the hardest time admitting. 

 A part of me wants it to be different. 

Not necessarily some dramatic reconciliation. 

Not some ridiculous movie scene where he suddenly realizes everything and runs toward me in slow motion.

Please. 

I have enough problems without adding a cinematic soundtrack.

But maybe I want him to look at me and actually see me.

Maybe I want us to talk like two people who once mattered deeply to each other.

Maybe I want to

 feel that there is still some warmth there.

Some familiarity. 

Some tiny piece of the connection that hasn't completely disappeared.

And another part of me is terrified that there won't be anything.

Just politeness. 

Just distance. 

Just two people being careful around each other because neither knows what is safe to say anymore. 

And maybe that's what will hurt the most. 

Not an argument. 

Not rejection.  

Just… nothing.

That quiet realization that whatever existed between us has become something we can only remember.

I don't know what September 18 will bring.

Maybe nothing. 

Maybe everything.

Maybe I'll spend the entire day nervous for absolutely no reason and then afterward laugh at myself.

“Seriously? You tortured yourself for weeks over THAT?” 

Wouldn't be the first time. 

Probably won't be the last. 

For now, all I can do is wait. 

Which is horrible, by the way. 

Waiting gives the imagination way too much free time. 

And mine has apparently decided to work overtime.

So, September…

Could you maybe hurry up and get here? Or don't.

Actually, let's not. 

I'm not ready.  

Not even close.

But maybe I don't need to be ready. 

Maybe I just need to show up.

Whatever happens, happens.

Maybe I'll smile. 

Maybe I'll cry. 

Maybe I'll laugh. 

Maybe I'll feel nothing. 

Maybe I'll surprise myself. 

And maybe, when I finally see him, I'll discover that the thing I've been afraid of isn't seeing him at all.

Maybe it's seeing who we are now.

Because once upon a time, we knew each other so well. 

And now I'm wondering whether we'll even know how to say hello.