I now respond with “okay” instead of “fine” when people ask me how I am doing. I think that means something. I no longer stare out the back bedroom window wondering if your car is going to go see her. I know you don’t want me, so why should I keep wanting you? I replay our time together in my head when I’m alone at night. Some nights more than others. Like any sane person does when they go through something. I was convinced you never stayed up thinking about me. You just slept.
I think about the little things I should’ve picked up on before. The things that should’ve pointed me in a different direction. Deep down, we were too different. You hated when I wore makeup, but pointed out all my imperfections. I brushed it off, thinking it was cute you liked me natural. Every time I invited you to come out with my friends, you said no. You didn’t like the way guys made moves on me, called me hot.
You were insecure towards me. All I ever wanted was to show you off, because I was proud to call you mine. But you would close me off to things, almost like you didn’t need to tell me. I told you everything about me.
I was an open book, but you just browsed and returned me back to the shelf.
You never slept in my bedroom with me. Not once. You said my bed was too small and it would mess up your routine. I rearranged my whole bedroom to make it feel more comfortable. I always slept in your bedroom. Barefoot, wrapped in my blanket at 6:30 am, you would kiss me goodbye as I walked out your door and two steps over to mine, walking up the stairs to my apartment. We laughed at the fact that most of our neighbors knew we were together. I knew you weren’t one for social media, but you would never reach out to me first. I often felt like you could go all day without talking to me and you would be content. That bothered me and I don’t care how selfish it sounds. If you want to talk to someone, you can and you should, especially if they mean something to you. All I did was sit at work and think about you.
One night, you lost your mind. It scared me more than anything we had been through. It was a party; all of our friends were at my apartment. You made up a scenario in your head that fueled you up into someone I didn’t know. I left my friends and ran down to you. Fuming in your kitchen, drunk on beer, you yelled at me. You said things that made no sense. I knew you were drunk. I sat calmly staring at my own hands on the table, waiting for you to finish whatever was happening. I couldn’t even look you in the eyes, for fear of seeing someone different. A Corona slipped from your left hand and smashed onto the floor. As the foam guzzled out I motioned for you not to move. There I was, on my hands and knees wiping down his kitchen floor. Picking up the pieces of something that wasn’t meant to be broken. Kind of like us.
You didn’t move from the table. You sat there, leg shaking, eyes wide in an unnecessary angry state as I wiped every inch of the floor. You kept saying, “We’re done.” You said it so many times, it started to sound like a command, something I had to follow, or else. I knew this wasn’t done, because I wasn’t done. I said, “This is insane” then stormed out of your place, slamming every door on the way up to my apartment. You knew I never lost my temper. I never got mad at you, for anything.
Two days later, you wanted to come up and talk to me. You sat across from me on the couch and cried. You told me you were crazy the other night and lost control. “I’ll never forgive myself for acting like that to you,” you said. These were things I already knew, but deep down it was more than that. Accusing me of unfaithfulness was your way of justifying your unfaithfulness for more than a month of our relationship. I didn’t know that back then. You said all you wanted was to be with me and the past couple days made you miserable without me. You promised we could do this. You got up from the couch and asked me for a hug. I could barely speak words for the lump in my throat was so big, it ached. I hugged you and cried into your shoulder. You got me flowers a couple days later before you took me out to a beautiful dinner.
People often say they regret relationships. I think that’s unrealistic. I don’t regret anything that happened, because at the time, it was what I wanted. But with time, comes understanding. I understand now. We were meant to happen, but we were never meant to be.