There was a time when I thought we might be something real. I thought that maybe you'd be a nice person to spend some time with. I thought that maybe we could cuddle, laugh, and watch movies together. I thought that we could go on cute dates, holding hands while walking past closing storefronts on mild summer nights.
But now I know better. I know that I'm not good enough for you, not cool enough, not strong enough, not casual enough. I wanted to define our relationship, I wanted you — I wanted "us." You didn't. You wanted to fuck. You fucked my body, and then my mind. And now you just want more. Sliding into my DMs, sliding into my texts, trying to slide back into my life.
But I guess I don't know better. Because I respond. Because I flirt. Because I let you tempt me with your games. I respond to your texts with sassy, flirty responses. I enable it all.
And then I wonder why I'm unhappy. I wonder why I don't find the "nice guys." I wonder why I am trapped in this vortex of insanity, and why you keep contacting me, pushing yourself back into my life. But the answer is pretty obvious, staring up at me from my bright iPhone screen.
Because I keep texting back.
And my friends think I'm masochistic, and they may be right — but there is more to it than that. When my phone lights up with a new text from you, my brain lights up with what I imagined could have been. I am not texting the boy who led me on and made my heartstrings into puppet strings, I am texting the boy I thought cared about my future. The boy who walked with a cocky swagger, and talked cheerfully about his day. The boy who I seduced myself into believing would see me differently than everyone else — would see me as someone special. That boy wasn't real, instead, you were real.
Like falling for someone, sometimes falling away from someone takes time. And I think that's okay.
But slowly, too slowly, I will convince myself that I deserve better. Slowly, I will pick up myself and move on. Slowly, I will look forward to the day when I finally ignore your texts, your tweets, and you.
