You were one of kind. You had a draw about you. You were sweet, smart and owned a room without even trying.
Somehow, you climbed the walls that I built around my heart and I found myself prepared to love and commit you. I didn’t want just your stories but your scars too.
But you were never ready.
I gave you pieces of myself that no one else has ever had. I made you laugh and you made me cry.
I trusted you under false pretenses thinking that you wanted the same thing as me but you wanted someone who was content with the empty promises and being strung along.
The fact that I cared so much about you threw you off balance and you took your confusion out on me. The more I care, the more you pushed me away.
I didn’t ask for a guy who didn’t know what he wanted or who was scared to commit me. I never asked for complicated but you led me on because you were too afraid to love me. But you were even more afraid to actually tell me that.
However, you did tell me actually me that I “assumed we were together.” The only thing I regret assuming is that you cared.
You called me “pushy” and “demanding.” Rather then taking responsibility and having accountability for your actions, you blamed me.
I so badly didn’t want to believe that I was one of many because you never stopped swiping, or that everything we did and had together meant nothing. I guess my insecurities, or weirdness as you would say, were valid.
You were never mine.
I go back and forth between mad and sad. I got back and forth between thinking about what could’ve been and not giving a damn.
I have to remind myself of the person you are, and forget about the person I wanted you to be.
I have to remind myself that you made me an option by choosing to go out with other girls without telling me, just like the last one.
I have to remind myself that you didn’t think that I was worth the effort.
I have to remind myself that you walked away, without even looking back, and left me.
I have to remind myself that I can’t lose anything that was never really mine in the first place.