The One That Left

I kind of hate this story but I was bored and I wrote it so I decided I might as well post it...

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To the one that got away:

Do you remember when we first met?

I know I do. I probably always will.You were so new to me back then, full of discovery and possibility, so utterly uniform, yet the kind you pulled off so flawlessly that you could convince everyone you weren't.

You pulled me in too. I can confirm that now. You sucked me into you, piece by piece, until I was so deep in quicksand that I thought I would never get myself out. So I did what one does when trapped in quicksand. I stayed perfectly still for fear of being sucked even farther in. But that didn't help me get out, so I stayed under your spell, trapped without question, for months on end. Years, maybe. But eventually, someone came along and pulled me out. I don't need to remind you who that was. I'm sure your poor memory at least knows that much. You know because it was as bad for you as it was for me. Worse, even, because your position turned it so much more sinister.

It was really only then that my head became clear enough to see you, really see you. It was then that the constant fog I had foolishly associated with being in love rolled out. Only that wasn't why or how or when the fog was there. It went much deeper than that.

But I guess now all I can really do is thank you. Yes, you lured me in, chased me around, caught me by the tail, chewed me up, and spit me out. But you also showed me something invaluable. You showed me the difference between the one that got away, and the one that left.