I wanted to believe you when you said you wanted me.
I wanted it more than those cookies from Safeway with pink frosting. More than VIP tickets to a Beyonce concert. More than unlimited pizza that also miraculously doesn’t contain any calories. More than laughter, wine, and seeing all my favorite people in one place.
That’s how badly I wanted to believe you. I wanted it more than anything.
But my mother always told me to pay attention to how people act, not just what they say. And your actions were always clear.
I was always temporary in your eyes.
The harder I tried to get you to open up, the more I’d feel you pull away. You’d tell me it was just in my head. I was imagining things. You’d kiss me and work your infuriating charm on me. And for a little while, I’d relax. I’d settle into your arms and pretend I couldn’t feel that pit in my stomach.
Maybe when we did break up, part of the reason I remained calm is because I knew. Down deep, I knew. I was recklessly, 100% in love with you, and you liked me. Those aren’t the same things. Not even remotely close.
But couldn’t you have fought for me? Even just a little bit?
Call me selfish, irrational, whatever you want. I’m not even saying you should have stayed in something that your heart wasn’t fully in. But couldn’t you have made an effort? Couldn’t you have told me I was special and important? Couldn’t you have made it seem like losing me would actually hurt?
Instead, you walked away. You walked away like all those nights together in your bed meant nothing.
Maybe it was nothing. To you.
To me? It was everything. It still is.