• I wish you were just a rebound.

    by  • July 20, 2011 • Moving On • 0 Comments

    To the boy who lives two doors down,

    I tell myself over and over that I don’t have a type. I just simply fall for anyone who catches my eyes and fights for me. But everyone has a genre they’re more attracted to. On move in day, I met you and you didn’t catch my eye. You were another 6’5″ jock wearing a hat and cutoffs to show off your muscles. You just weren’t noticeable in my eyes.

    The type of boys I usually lean to?: Scrappy. Nerdy. Genuine. Same music interest.

    Basically I normally fall for hipsters, not jocks. But then something happened. We clicked. I was locked out of my room, so you offered your bed. The only physical contact was your hand on my hip. And when you pulled down my shirt when it rose above my belly button because I was shifting around too much in my sleep. Our arms didn’t meet, or our legs, or shoulders. Nothing. You were simply a gentlemen. Stereotypically, I actually believed you would try something…but you didn’t. That’s when I began to see you.

    Ever since then, sleepovers were constant. Hangouts, dinners, movie dates. You told me you liked me, and we both knew I shared the same feelings. I feel safe and comfortable in your large arms. Your 6’5″ height towering over me would typically irritate me, but it’s comforting. We both got out of a relationship into college and we weren’t looking for another. We thought we could do without one.

    But then you fucked up. You hurt me. Far worse. Maybe it’s because I unexpectedly fell for you. Maybe because we both got too serious too fast. Either way, there were tears. It’s been nine months, and I’m trying to move on. Hell, I need to move on. I even convinced myself you were simply a rebound from my high school sweetheart, and it almost worked… until you started to talk to me again. You talked about visiting me. You talked about missing me. That’s when I realized I do too. And you weren’t a simple rebound..

    Well, you messed up. You ruined us, and there is no way in hell I’m giving you a second chance. So I beg you, please go away. Let me move on, so stop torturing me.

    I want to move on.

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