I wish I fucking knew.
That there wouldn’t be another you.
I wouldn’t have acted so cool, so casual. I would’ve done it all differently. The way you wanted.
But that’s the thing, I never knew what you wanted.
Until you told me I was not it. And walked out the door. I thought you’d turn, I thought you’d come back and tell me it was a mistake. Or a few days would pass, and you’d reach out.
But it could be months, even years. And I know you’re never coming back.
What hurt the most, is how easy it was for you to walk away. How easy you made it seem, to go on without me.
When I could almost swear you can’t go even a day without talking to me. You showed me you could, and it’s been two weeks.
I let my pride slip and texted you. Once. Then Twice. The first time was a moment of desperation, the second an attempt to beg for your attention. Now I know better, I’m not reaching out either.
But it’s not easy for me, not at all. It’s not easy to forget you, I don’t think it ever will be.
I let myself believe I’ve moved on, I let myself fall in the arms of another boy. But then he leaves and I fall to the floor, and let myself miss you.
The truth is I still wonder if you ever wonder about me.