I’m not mad you didn’t text me back. Sometimes things work out, sometimes they don’t — that’s okay. I would have been fine with an unreturned message. I can handle rejection okay. There are lots of people in the world, and not everyone will be into you — that’s okay.

But the way you held me that night didn’t say you weren’t into me. The way you stroked my cheek and smiled at me. The way you took off my shirt and tattooed me with kisses. These things didn’t say, “Hey, I don’t think we are going to work out.” or “Ya know, we just don’t have that much in common.” They said the exact opposite.

When you texted me promises of how often we’d hang out, and how cool it would be to spend time together, you weren’t quietly backing away. When you constantly asked what I was doing — inviting me out on the town — you weren’t kindly suggesting that you weren’t interested. When you told me I was special, and climbed into my bed, you weren’t saying that you never wanted to see me again. I could have dealt with you saying that. That would’ve been fine. But instead, everything you did lead me to expect a response back.

I’m not mad at you for not texting back. I’m not mad at you for ghosting, and peace-ing out of my life. I am mad at the dishonesty, at the manipulation, at the cheap games. I am mad that you knew I only wanted something real, and so you pretended to want that too. I am mad that you wanted my body, but had no interest in my heart.

I don’t think I am some special snowflake. I know that dating is a process, and we will be rejected far more than we will find a heartfelt lover. That’s how our world works, and it’s okay. It’s normal for people to not work out. But it’s abnormal for people to be twisted, turned, and jerked around because someone wants to get laid. Or at least it should be.

I’m not mad that you didn’t text me back. I’m mad that you texted me back until the moment my body was spent and could be cast aside.

I’m not mad that you didn’t text me back. I’m mad that you think so little of people to treat them this way.

I’m not mad that you didn’t text me back. I’m mad that you pretended to ever truly want to.