You only wanted me when it was convenient. That was really clear to see.
You only called me late at night, twice if you were drunk, and only ever because the only company you had in those late hours was the cold feeling of loneliness.
I filled your void temporarily, and each time I did I thought I was closer to permanence. But I was naive to believe you wanted that, and was stupid enough to believe it’d eventually happen.
You didn’t want me—I mean want me want me. You wanted the idea of me, and as soon as I started to become more than an idea, most likely because you thought of me more than you’d ever care to admit, you got scared and decided to fade away.
Without a trace, without a text, without an explanation, leaving me to come up with the why.
I stayed up late most nights, wondering what I could’ve done differently so that this would’ve ended with you staying here. I didn’t even realize that by doing that, I wasn’t just losing you, I was losing me too.
It took me months, almost an entire year, and I finally found the why: You’re selfish.
You could’ve left quickly, but that would’ve been too easy, right? You had to go and change your tone, send shorter messages, and dodge calls because if we just agreed to stop talking, I wouldn’t have been so easily manipulated.
That was the reveal of your true colors, not mine.
It was easier to drag it out and hurt me more because then when you left, you knew I would sit and revisit all the best parts of you, pleading that this wasn’t like you and that you meant no harm.
Yet, I still got hurt and you didn’t care. You let me believe you were a good person with clear intentions, when in reality you’re a boy dressed up like a man that lacks accountability and has issues with communication and commitment.
You were grown enough then to hold conversation, grown enough to say things and let it get to my head, but you were never grown enough to understand the consequences of your actions because you lacked perspective.
I was there, shocked and hurt, and you were already onto the next one because you collect validation like it’s a prize. With your first taste of it, you created an unsatisfiable hunger for the thing you could never provide for yourself.
Ghosting has become so normalized and comfortable within our generation that I can’t blame you for doing what all of us do, but I do hate you for choosing me.
I wanted you and you wanted me, but not in the same way. Simple.
Now that it’s been a while and I was able to grieve the loss, recognize my worth, and move on, I want to thank you. Thank you for convincing me I didn’t deserve you, because you’re right—I didn’t deserve you, I deserved better.
I deserved more.
The mixed signals, confusion, and distance made things more complicated than they really needed to be, but people tend to mimic broken records when they’re scared to approach things the way they should.
The funny part is that now that I’ve realized my worth, you’ve gravitated towards me.
The moment I realize I don’t need you—and better yet, don’t want you—you find a way to stick around. This time, sadly, your old tricks no longer work, and boys always go after what they think they deserve. Not this time.
You don’t deserve me.