“All they want is to know that we are there”, she said, feeling the wrath and scorn coagulate within her gut, “They want to know that whenever they want us, we are there and that’s all that matters. The day, no, the minute they realize that we are not, they lose it. The first text we don’t reply to, just one text and they go ballistic! That’s all they want, to know that we are there waiting for whenever they need someone.”
“To think of all the texts they don’t even bother looking twice at!” chorused her best friend in complete support.
Well, that is one thing about us women, we all have the same issues and we echo and chorus each other till our dying breaths!
She sat up straight and held the phone so it reached exactly where she could yell into it for an effect l’excellent, “That’s it! NO MORE of this bulls**t! I am NOT replying to a single text henceforth, I don’t care how ‘genuine’ it may seem I am DONE with this! I mean what is wrong with me for heaven’s sake I know better than this! So much better!”
“You’re right, really, neither will I!” conceded the friend.
They sighed, each believing in the passion of the moment because they needed to believe in something right then, they needed to know that they were still capable of believing in change, which had to happen someday.
It took less than ten hours and most certainly less than a genuine text to break them both down. Ofcourse, it was never the gravity of the other side that mattered, it was the place from where these young women’s words arose. A place of passion, for sure, but the passion of pain, the pain of love.