I wouldn’t want me for you

I miss you, every day (not really, only when I think of you).

I never had you. We just talked for about 4 months, and I don’t think I had ever connected with anyone as I did with you. Funny the way we met. I wasn’t supposed to; her friend should have, but she canceled, and she asked me to be the fourth in the group so you wouldn’t have to tag along with a couple. I had never met someone like you, so well-spoken, funny, entertaining and smart. I had crushes before, but they were all dumb boys who never looked at me twice, and one who just talked to me so he could get my homework.

We would write for hours, full days of texting, I’d always tell you everything that happened to me throughout the day, and you’d do the same. You made my days complete. The teen fantasy I always yearned for was here, physically ten hours away, but mentally here with me on my phone and my computer.

We stopped texting in late December.

I was stressed from school, I was upset at my life, at myself, at everyone, and to avoid showing you that part of me, I decided to push you, and the feelings I had, away. I told myself I’d talk to you when my exams finished, and I felt more relaxed. But when the year ended, I felt embarrassed. Why would someone like you wait for me, you deserved someone better, you always did. Then you talked to me. I don’t remember what it was, but you upset me (I could look back at our texts, but I feel like I’d throw up). Then your birthday came and all I wanted was to write to you, but I didn’t. Then the Pope came to my city, and coincidentally you came here too, and you wrote, and asked me out, and I said no. I lied. I told you I had work, and I did, but not at that hour, and you insisted, and I made up a stupid excuse. That afternoon it rained, and I cried in my room thinking about you. About walking under the rain with you, and how I could have held your hand and apologize for being a dick.

A few years ago I was thinking of you like I do today. I think I cried reading our chat logs, didn’t sleep, was late for work, and got a notification: you had liked two of my pictures. I felt happy, it was like magic, like I somehow manifested you thinking of me and sending me that sign. But I ignored it, I told myself you had made a mistake (looking back, they weren’t recent pictures, and one could have been a mistake, but two??).

I didn’t feel worthy, I always felt like a weight on people’s lives. I always wanted you, but I didn’t want you to want me. I wouldn’t want me for you. I had no prospects, no sense of a future, and you always seemed destined for more, to go abroad and meet someone like you, with goals and a drive for a better future.

And you have that now. I cannot say I’m happy about it. Why lie? Who cares? nobody cares, nobody knows who I am, and you don’t even have a twitter anymore. I wish you could magically read this, but you seem happy, and while I sometimes look back and think of all the what ifs and torture myself with them, I wouldn’t ever want you to read this, because I would literally die!

Writers note: This blog was written in the middle of a crash out. If you’d like to read more of this disaster and me making bad decisions fueled by lack of sleep, vitamin D and iron, go to parts 2, 3 and lastly 4 for the (hopefully) real (final) ending.