I still remember the first time we met. You were the strangest boy I’d ever seen. Strange because you didn’t look like the usual type of guy I’d go for. And I knew from the moment we looked at each other, that I would fall for you. And we sat together for a while. And I spilled my guts out to you. And you just sat there and soaked it up. At the time, I didn’t realize all the secrets of myself I had been revealing to you. The things I should have been working on changing, instead of constantly confessing to people. And it was probably the gin, but I was so immediately comfortable with you. I remember somehow your leg had ended up across my lap. And for some odd reason, I didn’t mind. Not one bit.
Then I took you to dinner. And before I knew it, I would anticipate a call or text from you, from the moment I woke up in the morning, until I laid down to sleep at night. And then I told you that I loved you.
And I had. I had fallen hard for you.
It’s been almost two years and I am still hurting from that. Because I could have waited, would have waited for however long it took for us to be together again. But you didn’t try. You didn’t fight for me. I fought for you every day that we spent together. But the knowledge that I would leave, that was enough for you to push me away. That was enough for you to pretend that you didn’t feel the same way.
I wanted to give you the world. And take the weight of it off your shoulders.