he made me question everything
ph: Laura Makabresku
It’s so hard for me to comprehend what I’m feeling. I’m just the type of person who has to know what’s going on. But I don’t. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out went on with him, let alone what is going on with me.
Maybe it was my excitement. It had been so long since someone had shown such genuine, respectable, interest in me that it caught me off guard. Every time he paid me a compliment, I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know whether to say ‘thank you’ or make a sarcastic, albeit funny, remark. Every time he laid out suave line, I didn’t know whether to call him out or play along. I didn’t know what I was doing. But it made me happy. He made me happy.
Despite all my inexperience in handling his mannerisms and style, he was still there. He still talked to me. He still wanted to see me. I could not figure out why, but I loved it. I loved that he wanted to see me for the sake of seeing me. I loved that he wanted to talk to me, for the sake of talking to me.
After years and years of being a ‘soloist’, six to be exact, I had forgotten what it was like to be wanted. I had forgotten that feeling of content and euphoria of knowing that someone was thinking of you and you were thinking of that someone too. That electricity you feel when he holds your hand, or put his arms around you. It’s addictive. It’s dangerous.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I allowed myself to become deluded by this infatuation. I’d like to say that I grew to like him just because he showed interest in me, but I’d be lying.
Things took an unexpected turn for the worst and for the first time in my twenty years on this earth, I had my heart broken. It’s kind of stupid of me to say this on a blog like this, but if you haven’t had your heart broken, then there is no way I can even begin to explain how this feels. I can’t even understand it myself.
He led me on, left me in doubt and made me question my worth.
He made me question everything. Was it me? Was it him? Was it someone else? Every time I find myself alone, I can’t help but think. I can’t help but think of him. I NEED TO KNOW. Why the fuck do I need to know? For some reason I just can’t let it go.
There are so many things I want to know, so many things I want to say to him, but my insecurities hold me back. What if he doesn’t feel the same pain that I do? What if it was just nothing to him? Why must I look like a fool in front of him?
Somehow I just want to know that he’s also putting up a front. That he’s just pretending to be okay. That deep down inside, he regrets it.
I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish I hated him. But I don’t. I really, really don’t hate him. I can’t hate him.
I’ve been told that maybe I’m more into the idea of being with someone that it is actually being with HIM. Fine, that makes perfect sense, but how I can I get over him, if he’s that SOMEONE attached to that idea?
All I can say is:
You’re a coward. Not because you couldn’t tell me you didn’t want to be with me with me for whatever reason. I’ll admit, if the roles were reversed, I would have had a hard time too. But you’re a coward because you were too scared to try. You were too scared to try to see that we would have been good. We would have been great.