My roomate tells me
too many of my stories are about what could've been only if I didn't live so far. Not you. You saw me, you took the opportunity, and so soon I was in love. As in, I was ready to tell you I loved you the first time we saw each other. After. So. Long. The hand on my lower back, the lips that touched my neck, everything was too fast, was too much. But it didn't matter, I hadn't felt like that in a zillion years, maybe ever... For once, I allowed myself to go all in. Just. Once. And I smiled while you held my hand, I smiled when you drove me around, I smiled when we talked about our teenage years. I smiled when you said you liked my hair, I smiled when you called me to say you missed me. Every. Day. It was magical, the most magical romance I've lived. And then, I fell sick. So sick I barely ate for two weeks, literally lost 10 pounds. And then, you stopped calling. You stopped saying I was beautiful. Just like that. And then, you came back. But you came back just to tell me you'd found love. Elsewhere. How dare you simply walk away like that, after making me believe you were the one? So I flew home. And pretended this never existed. Until we ended up talking on my birthday and I realized I missed you so very much, so very much more I thought I could ever miss someone. And your relationship starting going south, and you started seeking me. I let you. I'd felt like you were taken away from me by someone else, but she never knew about me. You lied to us both. A lie by omission, still a lie. All the bones in my body wanted me to stop talking to you. I stayed. I saw you one more time, in that coffee shop. And it was... It was odd? I wanted you so far, I wanted to scream at you, but we embraced, and we talked, we pretended I wasn't angry. So confusing, so dumb. I flew away one more time. I graduated. We started talking. Every. Day. And for a few seconds I'd catch a glimpse of what it was like to be in love again before we hung up and I could start crying for being the most horrible person on the planet. I wanted you again, I wanted all the things I didn't get the chance to live. With you. Because, again, in this weird distorted manner I love you.
It's been a year. I walk away. The truth being that you never wanted me enough to make me yours. It would've been so simple. I was there. I was yours.

















