Pagli

In ten years of depression, a pocket of time existed where I was actually happy. And, as if it’s even possible, it was less than a year after my mental breakdown. It was for the two or so months when I “dated” Pagli. I say dated loosely because I was in an awful place mentally and because I still considered her ex one of my bros, a combination that equaled the fizzling out of what could’ve been an amazing relationship.

We used to talk all day and night. Even my coworkers started teasing me about her after they noticed and realized what was going on. My keyboard was met with a flurry of flying fingers from sunup to sundown.

We’d created a Slack just for us two. On it, we struggled to keep the channel count low. We would talk on all fifteen channels at the same time. We loved talking to each other. And we loved talking about anything and everything under the sun and beyond, whether it was science-related, something to do with us, sharing quotes and articles, writing stories, self-improvement, date ideas, finance — you name it, we talked about it.

There was one particular weekend when she came over that was just benign. I have a hard time putting that weekend into words because there was something so ethereal and magical about it that words wouldn’t do it justice. Just our AirBnB alone seemed like it was perfectly situated in the nicest part of heaven…

I’m mad at myself for letting her ex be such a big deal in my head back then. And I’m mad at her for going awol on me recently. I don’t know if we’re perfect for each other (but then again who is?). What I do know is that we deserve a second chance.

I don’t know what to do about it though.