I’ve recently stopped talking to you. I didn’t want to. I know you’re confused, I am too.
From the day we first conversed, I told a lot of stories, crazy encounters mostly. I talked a lot about me and asked a lot about you. You never gave me straight answers but that didn’t stop me. I wanted an “in” in your life. I wanted to know more about you and I wanted to exchange stories and not freely tell them. But I should’ve never wished for that last one. I knew you were quiet. And I loved it.
We were a thing. Almost. I was never afraid to tell anyone how much I liked you. I pursued you but never really went for it. I was stupid and afraid. I was casually clingy, you never complained. I love you for it. I never told you. I was sure of you. Even though your friends always told me we’d never happen. I never believed them. But I hated the odds of us being together.
I knew you were unavailable. But I pushed myself anyway. We started to connect and I knew you weren’t ready. You were weak and I established a strong and dumb persona. Still, I pushed. I made lots plans about us. You were going to be the first relationship I’ve had in my life. So I waited. I made a lot of promises and I broke a lot of them as well. It was inconsiderate but I planned to make up for all of them.
I started to become depressed. But it wasn’t anything related to us. I’ve had various problems that I didn’t want to share with anyone. Not even you, my closest friend at that time. I wanted to. I wanted to be in your arms. I wanted to share the pain with you but I wasn’t tough enough to even cry for help. Unfortunately, my pride made me tell you nothing.
Weeks passed by. We were still talking. I was becoming dull. I became repetitive and you, uninterested. It was my fault. I should’ve told you my situation. Things would’ve been easier. Then came the time I was unsure of everything – even you. For a moment, I was lost. And I wanted you to find me. It was selfish and I expected too much of you.
You started to notice I was fading. You were afraid to admit it. You, too, didn’t want me gone in your life. But I foolishly decided to pull the plug anyway. I didn’t want to involve you or anyone with my melancholy. That move was unfair to you – I knew it. I was stupid and I fucked up.
I hate myself for this and I miss you. I still think a lot about you, about us and about what could’ve been. I should’ve had the courage to tell you about how my life was going and the strength to tell you how I feel. I knew you’d be there for me but my desperate, false idea of self-worth didn’t think so. I knew you cared. I let you down.
You were a part of my happiness and I fucking ruined it. I deeply regret not telling you anything – everything.
I guess I was always the weak one. Not you.