Dear young man,
See, I categorized this under “moving on”, because that’s what I’ve been trying my hardest to do. But what about everything else I’m feeling?
Because I feel all of those, and more. I think it’s wildly unfair for you to tell me the things you did. When you tell me how sweet I am, and how pretty, and talk to me every hour of every day for five months, you can’t leave like you did. You don’t know how long I sat there waiting for you. I’ll tell you, it was a hell of a long time. Thanks a heap for not even hinting that you might choose to ignore me, but this sudden, vast loneliness stings even worse than your abandonment.
To be honest, it’s not okay for you to chat with me when our paths cross. Every. Day. It’s up to you, because I don’t have the self-control to do what I should and walk past you standing there.
While I’m being honest, I’m more than pissed off that our communications seem to have never existed to anyone else. Did you ever mention me to your friends? I mentioned you to mine. I told myself not to. “You’ve been here before”, I told myself. After I think its safe to mention your name, it all falls apart. When my friends ask, “What about that guy?”, what do I say?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything about what happened. It was all you. You had no idea how tightly I was wound around your finger. So tight I lost myself and my independence.
So, after this long ass letter composed of my confused venting, I’d like to say one thing.
At least, that’s what I’d like to say. But I can’t even do that. As many times as I try to move on, try to recover, try to get a hold on myself and not be dependent on anybody, I can’t. That’s something you took from me, and it hurts too much to gt near you to ask for it back.
It was not real love,
A young girl
Dear young man,