I deleted you, because I was tired of trying to impress you. Of uploading pictures in the hopes that you’d stumble across them and press a button to validate me. I was sick of feeling ugly when you liked some other girl’s half-naked selfie or left a flirty comment on her page. I was fed up with waiting. Of checking and checking and checking to see if you noticed me yet. If you wanted me yet.
I deleted you, because I didn’t want unlimited opportunities to message you. I didn’t want to be tempted to say hello when I noticed that you were online at the same time as me or comment on your page when you posted a ridiculously attractive photo. It’s hard enough to resist texting you. I don’t need Facebook and Instagram and Snapchat to make my mission even harder.
I deleted you, because it hurt too much to see you living your life without me. I know you’re out there, having fun with girls who aren’t me, but I don’t need your happiness rubbed in my face. I don’t need to know exactly what you’re doing at any given time. Imagining it and seeing it are two different things. I’d rather see you in my dreams than on my screens.
I deleted you, because I didn’t want to keep comparing myself to the other girls in your life. I didn’t want to go from your profile to their profile, trying to figure out what you see in them. Trying to determine if you like her hair better than mine or if she’s just more fun to be around. Trying to see if you’re actually sleeping with her or if you’re just friends. Trying to figure out if she means more to you than I ever did.
I deleted you, because there’s no reason for us to interact anymore. It’s clear that nothing is going to happen between us, so what’s the point in drooling over your pictures and trying to interpret every word you type? As much as I want your vague statuses to be about me, they’re not. As much as I want to believe that you’re posting hot pictures to make me jealous, you’re not. So I’m done.
I deleted you, because I didn’t want to see your face every single time I picked up my phone or powered up my laptop. It would be impossible to forget about you with your name popping up on every app. And that’s what I want to do. Forget about you. I’m wiping you from my phone in the hopes of wiping you from my mind.
You might think that I deleted you, because I hate you. But really, I deleted you, because I like you and I’m never going to stop liking you unless I can get you out of my head. Unless I purge every trace of you from my phone. It’s not healthy to be reminded of you fifty times per day. So it’s better off this way. For the both of us.