No Children in Reiwa 8

I want you to have had a horrible night’s sleep. I want you to have slept worse than I did. I want you to have thought about me more than I thought about you. I want you to feel more lost, more lonely, more hurt, more confused, and more uncertain than I do.
I wish that you were more exhausted than I am today. I want you to be tired. I want you to be uncertain. I want you to have a headache and sweaty palms, fidgeting constantly, unable to sit still or focus on anything because every little moment, there’s a sound or a movement that could be a notification, and that notification could change everything.
I wish you were checking your phone more than I am. I wish that you’d go over the same read receipt a hundred times and keep wondering why, why, nothing was happening after that. i wish that you were more on edge than I am about a message that will probably never come (but who knows, it may). I wish that you were feeling sick thinking about getting a message at the wrong time, and I hope that you’re calculating the minutes and seconds to see when a reply, a response, anything, is appropriate.
I hope that when you’re smiling and happy with your family, your mind is elsewhere and your heart isn’t in it. I hope they’re all too polite to say anything, but I hope they know. Somehow or other, I hope that they know. And I hope that the food you make with them turns to ashes in your mouth.
I hope you think of me more, and with more intensity, than I think of you. And I hope that every second of this is worse for you than it is for me.
I want you to message me and say that, of course, you’d love to come out and visit tonight. And, for that matter, Monday’s a holiday, so you can even stay until Monday morning instead of leaving on Sunday afternoon. Because, honestly, that’s what I’d say if things were reversed. I want you to be happy with the gifts that I bought you this week, and that you’ll interpret them in the best way. I hope that you’ll talk to me, and explain things, tonight and that we’ll get through something for once. I hope that you’ll initiate intimacy, and that I won’t feel like I’m getting blood from a stone who has a sense of giri and very little affection.
But I know none of these things are going to happen.
And if I were smart, if I were courageous, if I were strong, if I were bold, if I were the kind of person who I’ve always pretended that I want to be, I’d tell you that I’m done. I’d drive to your home, dump your things on your porch, and wipe my hands after.
But I’m not.
And it disgusts me.