A final goodbye

Overthinking

Oftentimes I think that I am a masochist. What other reason would there be for me to like you?

I don't understand why I like the way it feels when your skin grazes me, when your arms wrap around my body, and when your eyes meet mine. I hate the way you look at me and I hate the way you speak. I hate the way I can hear you walk and even see you in my dreams. Part of me is realistic, knowing nothing really happened and nothing ever will. But another part of me craves the dysfunction you bring into my life.

I don't like anything about you. I hate the way your hair smells like cigarettes and the way your lips part. I treat you as if you're the last good man that walks the earth, but you're nothing of the sort. I guess some of this is my fault. Why did I find myself in your bed on the first night. Why was I sitting in your chair in calf-high socks with my feet crossed, resting on the side of your chair armrest. Making my way under your covers while talking my ass off. Why did I find myself high in your bed. Again, buried under your covers with a smile plastered on my face and my eyes closed as I spoke to you. You sat next to me while I laid down, I felt myself flustered. I didn't want to give in to anything even though my heart raced. A late night walk, the cold wind shaking some sense into me. I asked you for a band-aid as we walked back to your room. I sat on the bed and you sat next to me, I felt a bit flustered. It humors me that in that moment I asked about the bandaid, and almost as soon as you gave it to me I put it on and said goodnight. I'm not sure if you thought of anything at that moment. But as if that wasn't enough we awkwardly found ourselves back together with a group of people we had just met. My head laid on your lap, watching a movie while your arm rested over my torso, and your eyes burning my skin.

Is that what friends do? I guess not but maybe. I wonder if you ever cared but obviously not. Or not enough. Nothing you ever did for me was ever at your inconvenience. I gave you more than you could have ever given me. To say my presence meant nothing to you would be an understatement. Not once did you ever reach out other than to do things you wanted to do. The only thoughts you had for me were those of anger and mixed emotions, you threw away my letters and I don't know what to say to that because I know you did more than just that. You just wouldn't say.

When she was in your bed, and you laughed in the same way as you did with me. I admitted I liked you and that was a long time ago, if I could turn back time I would have stopped this from the start. I add nothing to your life, I am nothing more than entertainment for a man that is a prisoner of his own mind. I don't understand the things that you do or how you feel. I should've seen it before that our relationship was nothing but I was so tempted by you.

No way you didn't know I liked you as my hands touched your thighs and ran through your hair, as my head rested on your chest, and as my lips wrapped around the cigarette your hand held out. I hate the way we pass by and half-heartedly smile, the most I say to you now is a word or two. But maybe you like not hearing my voice ramble for an hour or more. What would you like about me besides the warmth of my body in your bed. You are not a good person, and morals evade your mind. What do you care about but yourself. I thought that I was no better than you but I would never do what you've done. I feel crazy and deluded, you have not done anything to me. And everything that has happened has been on my own accord. I should've seen it coming. But I do not blame myself. You almost gave me a warning of what to expect, quite literally spelling it out for me. I find myself stupidly waiting for you to reach out. As if you always blowing me off wasn't enough.

The wall that separates our rooms, is so thin I can hear every time you talk on the phone, so thin I can hear every time you step out of your room. I'm almost disgusted that I find myself wanting to run into you, so much so that I want to jump and go out at the sound of hearing a door shut. The more time that passes by I will find myself feeling better about not having to deal with you. Even though each time I see you I feel a sense of anger and mixed emotions, setting me back and making it more difficult to resist the urge to knock on your door and find myself in the same spot I always found myself in. In your bed.

You know too much about me but that isn't the reason why I dislike you.