Andre Texted...

Y’all. Y’ALL. Dre..yes, that Dre...hit me with a text today, long enough to be a novella and still somehow make me question my own sanity.

First thing: he asked if I appreciated the gift card. Now, sure, I did. I appreciated it like a queen appreciates her crown.. but it seems like as soon as I responded to .. he immediately jumped into a lecture about how I was “reading into everything wrong.”

Girl. Wrong? Who knew reading  comments, would be considered criminal misinterpretation.

Then, in the same breath, he tries to justify the post about dinner with her... He claimed it was “something old,” and that I was wrong. He claimed he didn't see her this weekend at all.  Meanwhile, I’m here with mental receipts burning a hole in my mind and  my pride is screaming like a banshee.

And y’al... Buthe said I should’ve just asked him. Asked him! As if my entire career as a professional internet detective  means nothing. Lol

Then he hits me with the “I’ve been working, girl. I’ve been busy. ” And then he tells me "You didn't Reach out ... I’m sitting there, thinking: excuse me? Didn’t reach out? Not my job to chase, sweetheart. You’re the grown man with grown man contracts and grown man excuses in Baton Rouge. Yet somehow, he makes it sound reasonable...Almost… wise.

He went on about his work dayev telling me how rigorous and important his job was. And me? I’m sitting there like a deranged historian, piecing together fragments of Facebook  posts, old comments, and vague memories, trying to reconcile them...

Then, y’all, He promised he got me something for Christmas And apparently, breaking his precious PlayStation 3 is unforgivable. I offered him an Xbox in atonement, confessed my guilt, and… he said I was right. He moved on.

Meanwhile, here I am, pacing, sweating, laughing at my own madness, and he suggests I “need space.” Space, y’all. He thinks I need SPACE. Like a galaxy of my own chaos needs to settle before I can be a rational human again.

And I’m staring at the text, staring at my hands, whispering to myself: oh Andre, why? Why do you speak in reason when my mind is an inferno? Why do you stay calm when my logic evaporates in fury

Do I forgive him? Or do