I now understand what you meant when you said you needed to move on. Now that you're gone, I'm creating. I'm not tying myself down to this town or this career. I have friends. I'm not so numb, and I'm not so confused. I do miss you and what I thought our relationship was, but it's now clear to me that you were never my friend. You were just the guy I slept with, smoked with, late night shopped with, drove in a car with, stayed up with. But under no circumstance were you my friend. My heart didn't matter. My feelings were irrelevant. Yet I still hung on. I still showed up with Chinese. I still woke up next to you wishing you would see me, a woman who believed in you, who was waiting for you to want her the way she thought you had. But you didn't. You don't. You won't. And all of this hurts. It makes me wish I was still numb. It hurts because my feelings were as genuine as the Tiffany's ring I will one day buy myself when I have recovered and flourished. Maybe you tried to be honest. Maybe you truly wanted to be, but the beauty of the way you treat me is that I will never know. You're a short story with unanswered questions and no clear ending - beautiful, touching, but still a sad mystery I will never solve.












