You Took Me For Granted, But I Still Think About You

alubavin
alubavin

Sometimes, I look over at you, sitting in my chat box window and think to send you a message. I think about all of the things I want to apologize to you for and then I think about all of the reasons you don’t deserve a single second of my time. I think about that time you took me back to your apartment because my phone was dead and I was too drunk to walk home alone and you let me sleep in your bed, promising you wouldn’t try anything because it meant more to you than that. I think about that time we disappeared to wine country and you promised to teach me one of your favorite hobbies. I think about the times you would put the roof down on your car and zip from stop sign to stop sign, begging for a mishap. I laughed. You always made me laugh.

You used to look at me like I was the first person you’d ever laid your eyes on–like I was the only person in the universe. But then you would talk about your goals and your dreams and none of them involved anything other than money–what you were doing with your money, where it was invested, how you wanted to build an online bank or some sort of thing I will never understand. I admired your success. I did not admire your motivation.

I think about the you before you left town. The way you would come and go and the way I would patiently wait for you to return to my door. I waited to be greeted with that subtle grin and led to the car door that was always opened. I think about the way your hand always found mine and the way you would smile after a joke and the way I politely laughed. I think about how you strutted with me as a prize on your arm and the way I awkwardly laughed at your gesture. “We are drunk,” you said and I agreed. I was rational for you.

I think about the you after you came home. The way you hesitated to let me know you arrived and the way you dodged our scheduled hang outs. I waited to be greeted with your subtle grin but instead I was only met by cold, short texts and the promise of a group hang out. I wanted to know the truth. You were high. You told me “we don’t have that special something.”

I felt the rage spread like lead into the palm of my hand. I couldn’t handle it. I gave you my time and my affection. I had plans for you. I knew at that moment I’d never speak to you again. I knew that I was tired of hearing the cesspool drip from your mouth into my eardrum. I had to stop the throbbing so I used all of the blood in my body to raise my hand and let you feel it’s boil as I rushed passed your cheek. One time quickly enough to knock your jawline perpendicular from me. I knew at that moment I was tired of the way you used to say things and spew them out like I swallowed every word. I realized how little of anything you really said and how all of your words mounted themselves in front of my ears without ever resonating. I knew at that moment your game had caught me. I lost.

As I watched my hand so forcefully strike across your cheek, I watched my heart fly from the clasping of your words. I watched it fall and hit the floor and shatter into the pieces I dared not to count.

I had to escape. I had to get away from the man who instantaneously caused me so much grief. I had to solidify my gesture by fleeing, by blaming you for all of my remorse and by never speaking to you again.

I left. I sobbed until I was done. Numb. I swore I would never feel that again.

But here I am, looking at you in my chat window, wondering if you look at me in your chat window too. Wondering if you’d ever care to apologize or wondering if there was anything worth apologizing for. Here I am, sorry for having loved you but never sorry for making sure you’d never forget me. TC mark

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