I don’t want to have the conversation. You know the one where it ends like all the guys before you. The one where I have to sit and listen to what’s not wrong with me and what’s wrong with you. The reasons why you can’t do this and the reasons why you don’t want to hurt me.
I don’t want to have the conversation that starts out with ‘listen…’ and ends with ‘so we can still be friends right?’ It’s not fair to ask me to be your friend five seconds after you crush my heart. It’s not fair to leave me in the dark when you were busy making decisions for us without ever including me.
I don’t want to have the conversation that contains the words ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ Too late. You did. You hurt me the second you decided that this wasn’t for you. While I can’t be upset that it didn’t work out, please don’t tell me how bad you feel for hurting me. That doesn’t make it feel any better.
I don’t want to have a conversation about if I’m OK or not. I’m not. I have a giant mess that you left for me and now I have to clean it up. I have to take the pieces that are broken and sweep them into a pan. I have to then take said pieces and patch back together what was shattered. I just need you not to take of those fragmented shards with you when you go.
I don’t want to have the conversation with my friends. The one where they ask me where you are. I don’t want to tell them that you weren’t sure about us. I don’t want to tell them that even though I was pretty much all in, that you were in the background questioning everything.
I don’t want to have that conversation that happens after I’ve had one too many. The one where I admit to my closest friends that I miss you. The one where even though I understand what happened, I just can’t accept that you’re gone. I can’t accept that the pain in the pit of my stomach is telling me that this time, healing is going to take time. A lot of time.
I don’t want to have another conversation with you when after having one too many and missing you, I decide to call. I don’t want to hear the pity in your voice as I cry and tell you that I just want to know what it’s like to have your arms wrapped around me one more time. I don’t want you to tell me that this is what’s for the best and you’re really sorry. I know you are.
I don’t want to have a conversation about the new person you’re dating. Eventually I’m going to know that you’ve met someone else. I’m going to hear about how she’s different than me in every way and how you’re so happy. I don’t want to know that you’re doing fine and that I’m still mourning the pieces of me that are still embedded in you.
I don’t want to have any more conversations about you at all. Period.
I want you to be gone. I don’t want to hear your name come out of my mouth. I don’t want my friends to tell me I’m better off. I don’t want to know what you’re doing through random tidbits people tell me.
I don’t want to have any more conversations about you.
Because I need to let you be just a memory instead of my reality.