It was enchanting to meet you. I met you at a time in my life where I desperately needed a break. I needed to regain self-love, focus on my career, and land on my feet after falling so many times for two years in what seemed to be the world’s worst relationship. A relationship that was two years too long. But you helped me out of it.
You helped me run away from the biggest problem I had at the time. Unknowingly, you were my solution. You were a friend to me right away. The nights you let me crash in your apartment, the nights you shared your space, your food, your time, your bed. Before either of us had the time to realize it, we were simply growing into something more. Something much more than I needed or wanted.
You threw yourself at me, being the most kind, chivalrous gentleman. Where have you been all my life? But I didn’t want you. I wanted to be your friend, you wanted to date me. It took one week for you to accidentally word vomit the three most dangerous words: “I love you.”
It also only took you one week to contemplate moving with me, knowing that was my plan all along. And despite having not wanted more than a friend in you, I secretly loved the idea of running away, in hopes of being a Bonnie and Clyde sort of love. But then, in that same week, you invited me to permanently move in with you. Stupidly, I decided to agree.
I had feelings for you the size of the Grand Canyon. And they kept growing, even when I tried to convince myself I didn’t want them to.
Sadly, the roles quickly reversed. The more I started wanting to be with you, the more you started slipping away. We tangled ourselves up in nothing but chaos and strife, trying to work on a relationship. You tried to care for me, protect me, fix and mend me. I tried so hard to convince myself I didn’t want you to, but I quickly fell under your spell.
Living with you is the culprit of all of our problems. We so quickly jumped to the idea that it would be a great thing that it subconsciously ruined us. Who cares if it ruins any chance of a relationship so long as it saves us rent, right?
I know I haven’t been perfect. I’m moody, I’m stubborn, I can be mean accidentally, but I care so deeply for you. My feelings are deeper than the ocean for you, I’d run to you if I had to. You don’t seem to realize that or see the big picture. Every time I get mad, or things get complicated, you dump me.
You break my heart into pieces of shattered glass.
You throw me out like the valet trash at your upscale apartment complex. But then you pull me back into those warm, strong, handsome, muscled arms of yours and tell me it’s all going to be ok. This is our relationship. Unwilling to admit you do it, you use me, take me for granted and take advantage of my upmost sincere feelings for you. You use them against me. That is true evil.
Three months. Twelve weeks. Ninety-two days is all it took to pull me in and spit me out. Is that all I’m worth? Just three short months? Have I exceeded my expiration date?
Every day I play back our relationship, and I like to think you’re just confused. Maybe your feelings are too strong and you just don’t know what to do. I genuinely believe you care for me, but I also genuinely believe you use me to your advantage and keep me close at your convenience. You want me when you’re lonely, when you’ve had a bad day, want to vent, cuddle, want to rest your head. Yet when things seem to go North and up for you, is when you decide you don’t need me anymore.
My love and heart are not to be yo-yo’d with.
How is that fair? What did I do to deserve you being so indecisive with my feelings? I’m suffocating with chaos. If all you wanted was to play games, you should have just told me. I hope you like chess. No one dominates the Queen.