Pockets.

If I had waited a few minutes before replying, I would have known who was sending me his number so I'd have it on my new phone.  And, since I haven't allowed myself to text him, I'd write back and say "ok thanks."  But what I wrote was

and then we were bantering back and forth.  It doesn't take much, really.

He wooed me over banter, over conversations like this.

I could have stopped it.  I can still choose to stop.

But part of me thinks that trying to not think about him may be counter productive.  If I spend a day fighting the desire to write to him, then he is a bigger part of my life than if I send a quick text and don't hear anything until evening.  Part of me thinks that there isn't any point in trying to not love him.  It doesn't work that way.

And he is not the only person I pine for.  Just the most piney.  Sometimes I feel like I never let go of anyone, that I just keep adding more pockets to my skirt to carry all my unrequited loves.  Now I have one more pocket.  I love him, but he's not my boyfriend.  That's just how it is.