Last time I saw you, I promised you that nothing would change. I promised you that when you returned, I would be here, in the same spot with my heart still worn on my sleeve.
I shouldn’t have.People change. People grow up. And it’s the most heartbreaking thing in the world, the idea that the same things that made someone love you are what makes them stop loving you. I hate that. I hate the fact that I second guess myself every time I pick up the phone to call you, especially because there were days when I would call you to tell you the smallest thing, about the pretty flower I saw on the sidewalk or the shitty cup of coffee I drank in the morning.
I hate the fact that I can feel you care less, want to be around me less, and I hate the fact that I’m okay with it.
I hate that when I miss you, I miss the old you, the one who would laugh at my awful jokes and would get excited to see me and who thought I was the greatest thing to happen.
I hate that the new you ignores every small joke I make and spends time with me out of obligation and has not only realized how damaged I really am, but also wants nothing to do with it.
I hate that I thought I needed you. More so, I hate that the realization that I don’t need you is so bittersweet. Because I never wanted to need you, I only wanted to want you. But now I don’t want you either, and that makes me a strange kind of sad.
I don’t really know what this is. I think it’s an apology, but I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. Partly for depending on you too much. Partly for putting you through everything I put you through while I was trying to figure myself out. Partly for jeopardizing everything and partly for purposefully getting on your nerves. Partly for apologizing too much. And probably for a multitude of other things.
So here it is, I’m sorry. Things changed. I changed. And I miss you, but not enough to do anything about it. I guess what I’m saying is good luck.
I hope you’re well and I hope you think of me sometimes.
But know that if you don’t, I’ll be fine regardless.
