I’ve admitted all of my mistakes, and begged for your forgiveness. I gave you space, I smothered you. I tried being sweet, nice, sexy, intelligent, funny and honest.
I tried.
The distance between us doesn’t grow smaller or larger, but the gap between us after our latest casualty has left us further apart than we have ever been.
I lied.
I said let’s just be friends, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad one. Let’s grab coffee, don’t worry, I won’t bring anything up. You don’t have feelings for me anymore, you say.
I hope you lied too.
I’m so tired of this, the years of requited and unrequited feelings. Me struggling to get you to say how you feel, or how you don’t, or if you will. We both tried not talking to each other, and maybe this year apart did change parts of us that can’t let go, or made other parts stronger.
I’ll see you in a few weeks once when you’re home for who knows how long. We’ll get together and have coffee and things will be awkward at first but then that comfortable feeling and contentedness will set in. We’ll laugh and shyly smile and flirt.
Then I’ll go home to him, and you’ll go and take a step back for a few weeks. You know, like usual. I’ll start to think I did something wrong and you’re mad, you’ll say you were busy. We’ll start to talk our usual amount again, hang out, and repeat the whole process over again. I’ll think about you all day, every day, and you’ll be elusive and confusing. I’ll try to leave him, and feel guilty because he loves me so much and fought for me. I stay.
… I’m excited to see you.
