Don’t get ahead of yourself. I wasn’t expecting much when I first met you. You were a boy, too eager and excited. You didn’t play mind games then, no. You wanted me, that was very clear. And you pounded me with affection and single-minded dedication. It was amusing to watch when I was still disconnected. But then I must admit, it was a breath of fresh air. And your lack of any sort of walls inspired in me to do just the same. We had a good run, for the time that we had didn’t we? The hot mess of wanting each other so bad you can’t think straight. But then it waned. Like I warned that it would wane, but of which you reassured me wouldn’t. I cannot hold that against you though. I’m a realist, you’re a romantic. I should’ve known better. The manner by which it stopped however, an abrupt nosedive into nothingness, a complete and total halt of caring, a deliberate ignorance of what was – that was painful.
It’s hardly unique. I’ve pulled the disappearing act before myself. Mostly with people I felt no connection with. One time, with an older man who I did like, but wasn’t extremely attracted to. It didn’t help that he was full of himself, and I felt a moral obligation to put him in his place. I guess that’s karma for you. How ironic.
It’s funny how we were in such different places. I was still heady in infatuation over you, but you were long gone already. Perhaps moved on to a shinier new conquest, or maybe back to your lady love who treated you like garbage. I wish you never said you felt close to me, that one evening. I wish you didn’t tell me, in that heart-wrenchingly sincere voice of yours, that you liked me so much. I cannot trust my judgment now. How could I? I let my guard down with you, in a way I didn’t with the others, and you ripped hope into shreds. That’s what makes you the worst in my book.
In many ways you were just a kid, I guess. It hurt all the same though. And I hope whatever it was from your end, that it was worth my hurt.