There are so many reasons why you are right for me. Look! I even made them into a neat list so they’re clear to you:
- We’re enjoying getting to know each other
- We make each other laugh
- We have many similar personality traits
- We are honest with each other
- We see eye-to-eye on many important issues
- We are good at communicating with one another
- We feel comfortable together
- We’re attracted to each other (well I’m at least attracted to you, and I’m guessing you are to me because sometimes you look at me funny)
- We look really cute together
- I get really excited when it’s time to go see you
- It just sort of feels right and natural to be in each other’s company
See! Lots of reasons why you’re right for me, based on what I’m looking for in a partner (and what I assume you, too, are looking for, because we’re so similar in many ways), and these are only the wingtip of the lovebird—I could go on but I don’t want to bore you. And because I don’t think I want to try and convince you that you’re not seeing what’s dancing around in front of your nose throwing glitter and puppy dogs at you yet going completely unnoticed. I shouldn’t have to convince you.
Because, listen, despite all the reasons you’re right for me, there’s one huge, pus-filled blemish that trumps all the other bullet points—you’re not interested in me. Whether you like me or not is irrelevant. You can like me until the cows come home but that’s not going to change the fact that your interest level is humming gently at zero and you’ve got your stupid fat foot on the break (not bitter, promise; your foot is just stupid and fat and that’s not my fault).
So you are wrong for me. You are wrong for me because your mouth doesn’t instinctively melt into mine. You are wrong for me because you’re baulking, and I don’t even really care why anymore, just that you are. You are wrong for me because you can see a way to be without me. And when I think about all the things I’m looking for in a partner, all the other bullet points blur into insignificance if you’re not interested in me.
I thought I was done with romance after all the failed ones, but it turns out I’m not yet ready for the cynical, arms-length relationships I’ve been having. I’m not actually all that broken, believe it or not. Wait, no… Yep, I’m still completely functional. And I want someone to want me like Ryan wanted Marissa. I want you to look at me, to speak to me, to be intrigued by me and to decide, quite simply, “Her.”
You’re wrong for me, and I’m OK with that. I don’t want to be with someone who is wrong for me. Welcome to NYC, bitch—there’s all types of wrong for me out here. And besides, if you were right for me we’d already be together, because that’s what happens when people are right for each other.