Dear The Boy Who Let Me Go Two Nights Ago,

I REALLY liked you. And from what you told me, you really liked me, too. It was the long distance, we said, that was coming between us. But while I would have dropped everything to make a first date/anything happen, drive thousands of miles and hours just to see your face, the feelings didn’t seem to be mutual. I had to practically beg you. Was I fooling myself? Should I not have believed all the things you told me over text, phone, and Facetime? All the times you told me you missed me more than you’d ever missed someone before? All the times you told me I was different, special? How do you let someone so “special” go then?

You told me you didn’t want to hurt me anymore, keep me waiting, wondering. You told me the timing was just off. I agreed. But do I really? Couldn’t we have made it work? During the four months we were texting, how is it that we never saw each other? 7 hours—that’s all there is between us. Living in a Universe so big, 7 hours is nothing.

Kindred spirits, we called ourselves. We talked about religion, politics, the Universe, our day, how much you wanted to kiss me, how desperately I wanted to touch you… and yet, there were those 7 hours.

I find myself getting angry as I write to you. Seven. Hours. That’s all. I have no choice but to believe you didn’t feel what you told me you felt. I know life was in the way, but what did you expect when you finally admitted your feelings to me? What did you want to happen then?

I tried. And failed. Did you even try?

You are one of the nicest men I have ever met, but there is no denying that I feel played, led on. A part of me regrets the last few months. A part of me wishes we had never gone down the road we did. A part of me wishes I didn’t have to sift through these anxious, angry, frustrated, disappointed thoughts I have now.

You said we should part ways because you were afraid of hurting me so bad that I’d rue the day I ever set eyes on you. Ironic, then, that a part of me does.

I would like nothing more than to spend even just an hour in your presence. That’s all I really wanted. And if you couldn’t give me that, I suppose letting me go, letting you go, was for the best. If I can’t get an hour of your quality time, how can I expect anything more?

I suppose, then, we did the right thing. I only wish you hadn’t said some of the things you did. I only wish I didn’t have your sweet whispers and promises to replay in my head every night before going to sleep, as I desperately try to figure out what I did wrong. Because, if you said you wanted to see me, you would have made it happen. Since you didn’t, then you must have not felt as strongly as you led on.

That, my dear, is what you’ve left me with.

Feelings of inadequacy. I do thank you, however, for showing me what I need to do now. I need to find my own self-worth inside myself, and learn to never rely on someone else for something like that. I plan to avoid how I feel right now in the future. I’ve indentified MY problem; it’s time I fix it.

I wish you the very, very best.

Sincerely,

Stephanie

Advertisements

One thought on “Dear The Boy Who Let Me Go Two Nights Ago,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s