I am sorry that I was crazy. I am sorry that I can’t stop being crazy and I’m sorry that I can’t stop being sorry. I loved you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. That day in the parking lot when you told me you thought you loved me, I was so surprised I didn’t know what to do so I just kissed you. I figured it was probably better to do than just saying “oh,” or “thanks.” That’s what made me love you. Your vulnerability on that day. You were everything I wanted in a man and you showed me your heart and I couldn’t not love you. I knew I shouldn’t have loved you. I knew that we would only end up hurt. But love is blind and even as we talked that last night before you left I believed every word you said. I believed you would buy me a ring. But you left the next morning without a goodbye. Such is our tragic love story. Tragic for me at least. You hurt me. When I was traveling I would wait until my roommate would fall asleep and then I’d cry until I did. You broke me.
I won’t blame you for the way I am now, or the way I have been since because it’s my own crazy and my own fears keeping me back. But because of the ordeal that was “us” I couldn’t let myself commit to David. I could have loved David, eventually. He and I were so good together. He was good for me. But my own reluctance to truly commit and his mirrored actions doomed us from the start.
I pretended to accidentally text you the other day because I need to let go of the pain you caused me to be able to move on and truly move on. Part of me just wanted to make sure you still had the same number. I am kicking myself for saying nothing but sorry. I know you have moved on with your life and I’m sure you can assume that I have. I wish we could just be friends. I wish if I saw you on the street I could say, “hi, how are you?” If I saw you on the street today I would probably hide.
I’m glad you’re happy. I hope I’ll get there eventually. I am happy, but you’re not lonely like me.