I know how this sounds. I’m just another lovesick fool lamenting over heartache. It’s not original. I bet it reeks of desperation.
I’m cringing at my own thought process on the daily. I stare in the mirror and wonder who the hell is looking back at me. A shell of my former self, maybe. Whoever she is, I don’t want her to belong to me.
I think about your fingertips on the small of my back and it’s like someone is stabbing me. I thought we were so close. I could taste it. I could taste the future.
But turns out, you never could. I was something to pass the time. I was a distraction. You were never going to look at me the way I did you.
There’s that famous Bonnie Raitt song, “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” In it she croons, “You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.”
And I know it’s true. I know it’s unfair to wish something on you. I know one-sided love is a recipe for disaster.
But I just wish I could know why.
Why didn’t you love me back?
My brain plays these terrible tricks on me. I analyze our old conversations and try to find where I was unlovable. I pick at my skin and look for answers in my smile. Was I not pretty enough? Not interesting enough? Just not good enough?
The thing is, I know all that running inner monologue is destructive. I know you not developing deeper feelings isn’t a reflection on me. It doesn’t mean I’m a lesser person.
But damn, try telling that to my broken heart. Try telling that to my tear ducts. Try telling that to my hands and how badly they want to text you.
“‘Cause I can’t make you love me if you don’t.”
I wish you did, though. I really wish you did.