There is a quiet hollow, a strange emptiness in the air. I know better than to expect your message on my phone; you would’ve been one to respect my decision. I sit up on the bed, shoulders slouching although they feel a little lighter. Didn’t you just tell me on this very same bed, that you loved me, last night? And didn’t I say them back, although I wanted you to disappear? I want you to be here but I want you gone. I want you to tell me nice nothings while I pack up my heart and leave. I realize I must have lost my mind. All of my plushies told me so. They told me I made a grave mistake. Deep down in my heart I knew the same. The Sunday routine happens like clockwork for a few hours, and then lunchtime hits. Everything I see reminds me of you. For the first time in many years, I made it to a wholesale grocery store I used to frequently visit when I was a teenager. That was the one thing I kept forgetting to tell you: I love doing grocery runs with you. It is to me the sweetest, most comforting thing to do with a partner, we could play house before the house presents itself. I had always wanted to take you here, and that other supermarket in North Jakarta. I don’t know why it never crossed my mind to do it in any other time than this. I saw a dispenser and thought of you. You never really got it at the end. I wonder if you still needed one. If I needed to get one for you. Would you have accepted my apology then? For not knowing better; that out of all of life’s annoyances, you were the constant, not the variable. Did you know minimarts had drive-thru lanes now? Such an odd and marvelous thing! I grab my phone to let you know—but stop myself. It hasn’t even been a day, and I have stories to tell you still. I want to know how your boring Sunday went. Did you watch Only Murders in the Building? What did you have for lunch? Are you working on a weekend? When are you going back to Jakarta? The Message app is still open on my MacBook, the last photo you sent me still downloading. I delete the last message I was about to send you a few days ago, but didn’t because you called first. The Deli Bakes released a nice lunchbox – one that I would’ve bought for myself because it looked so nostalgic yet so practical. I would’ve shared it to you on Instagram. I had enjoyed our last trip to Bandung and I didn’t tell you that enough. I wasn’t being myself and I hated it. And I hate myself for believing that you also hated me for it. I isolate myself, as usual, running and hiding and playing hide and seek. When all in all I just wanted to be found. Don’t you think it odd, the hopeless romantic spending time away from her lifelong lover? The most ridiculous logical fallacy ever told.