As humans, we’re the farthest thing from perfect. Some of us try to be, though. Some of us try to make the best decisions, but our judgement may be just a little off. We do this in every aspect of our lives, including our romantic relationships. After every dead-end relationship and every scumbag after scumbag, there was you. You were the one thing I was the most ashamed of. You were one of the biggest mistakes I thought I’d made.
Then why did I choose to love you?
You weren’t so much a choice as you were a choice that had chosen me. I didn’t choose to love you. I couldn’t even stand you in the beginning. I began to care about the person you stopped pretending to be. I began to care about the guy who texted me regularly. I began to care about the guy who made a constant effort to see me or spend time with me. I began to care about the guy who walked me out of the bar and kissed me in the parking lot before putting me in my car to leave. I began to care about the guy who shared the very intimate details of the things in his life, especially the ones he wasn’t particularly proud of.
You made me love you.
You made me love you with all of the realness of who you were. You made me love you in a way that I didn’t want to because of the toxic ass relationship I had just come out of. You made me love you and then you hurt me. You hurt me in ways you’re not even aware of because I chose to hide my feelings. You hurt me over and over again for the past three years, and then one non-unapologetic apology and I’m wrapped around your finger once again.
I think you love me too.
There’s a reason we can’t quit each other. There’s a reason that over the span of three years, we always end up right back with each other. There’s a reason. And I think it’s because you love me and care about me in a way that you don’t understand. Most days you want to push me out of a moving car, but other times, when you’re having a bad day, you want to lose yourself inside me.
I’m constantly there when you need me, even when you don’t deserve for me to be. It’s your turn to sink or swim. I need more of you. I want more of you. Before you decide to hurt me again, make sure that you don’t need me in all of the same ways.