It’s never goodbye

There’s an image online. There’s a quote on it over a blurry picture; it goes something like:

I took seventeen shots of vodka to forget your name but the only name I forgot was mine and drunk or not you’re the only thing on my mind.

The night I blocked Everett on my phone was the same night I realized how easily he could give me up. That he already had.

“I hope this isn’t goodbye forever,” he texted. With a frown, something like: ”:(”

Something easy, insincere. Just like me, our relationship.

Blocked.

But it isn’t really goodbye.

It’s a temporary one, like being temporarily out of vodka.