When we first met, which now feels like centuries ago, I wasn’t strong enough to know my worth.
Instead, I was willing to be putty, waiting for your hands to mold me. However you wanted to shape me, I was happy to oblige. It all felt worth it to be close to you. I’d become whoever you most desired. Even if I was sacrificing who I truly was in return.
Now, looking back, I can’t believe I confused that feeling for love. But I suppose that’s the danger in youth: not knowing enough yet.
You used to play me hot and cold, a game to always prove how much more in control you were. And for some reason, I allowed it. I happily accepted your affection when you gave it, and yearned for it even more when you withdrew.
It was all a game for you, wasn’t it? The harder I fell, the larger your ego swelled.
You made me your fool.
But you know the funniest part? It’s how quickly things can change. And oh my, how the tables have turned.
I’m in a good relationship. Probably the first real one I’ve ever had. He treats me kindly and loves me for all the things you convinced me I should hide. He tells me I’m beautiful, and he doesn’t do it just to get me into bed. He believes it.
I used to wonder about you. If you ever found someone to really love, or if you continued the same pattern of seduction and release.
And here, all this time later, you text me.
All this time later, I’m happy and secure and the person I should have been a long time ago.
All this time later, you must be drowning in your own loneliness and insecurity because you dared to say, “I miss you.”
Well, the joke’s on you.
Because I sure as hell don’t miss you.