I don’t know how to address you.
First off, you’d better know who I am. I desperately hope you haven’t done this to other girls. Secondly, I hope you’ll read this letter twice. The first time, read scanning for my anger. The second time, read looking for evidence of my forgiveness. It’s in there somewhere. Here goes nothing.
I spent seven months of my life on you. You led me on and on and on. Hell, I even tried to take a step back once. Remember May? We barely spoke at all that month. I was easing myself out of it, trying to use summer to cushion the blow. But no. You simply couldn’t allow that. June arrived and you dragged me right back in. We were back to talking every day, and you had me thinking maybe I didn’t want to escape. You told me you missed me. You went on about how you couldn’t wait to see me. You made plans for us as we got closer to being reunited. It was all so sweet. I’d never had anything like it before. Fighting it all was the last thing on my mind.
Then we were together again. At first, it was great. I was happy and everything seemed okay. Then classes started and time was harder to come by. We didn’t see each other as often as you led me to believe we would, but I was understanding. You said yourself I was about as low-maintenance as they come. I still am; that never changed. Gradually, the time between our visits grew longer. I started to question my own happiness. It took me a while, but I eventually admitted to myself that I wasn’t as happy as I should be. I just didn’t know what to do with that information once I accepted it. How could I give up on you after everything? You were special. I may not have been skipping-through-fields-of-wildflowers happy, but I wasn’t done. It just didn’t feel like time to let go.
As I fought with myself over what to do, you were deciding that you didn’t really want me. Well, to be fair, you didn’t want a relationship. When you did eventually mention this to me, it burned. I don’t think you meant to say it the way you did. You were intoxicated. It was over a damn text message. Your friends suck for letting you have your phone in the state you were in. Anyway, that did it for me. We didn’t speak for a week after that. From there on, our conversations have gone from random texts every couple of days to far-and-in-between snapchats.
Adjusting wasn’t fun for me. You’d become a very good friend, and not speaking to you all of a sudden felt entirely wrong. I asked my friends to help keep me in check. I didn’t want to be reaching out to you after what you did. I didn’t want to answer your drunk calls anymore. Whatever it was you would’ve said, I didn’t need to hear it.
Now it’s been two months since it all began to collapse. I’m most shocked at myself over what’s changed in that time. Perhaps that’s due in part to the fact that I never see you in order to have a chance to be shocked at you. However, most of the reasons come down to something else entirely. The thing is, you hurt me in a really terrible way. I’ve never felt so used before. I don’t think you’re a bad person, but that was the worst thing you could do to me. I hope you realize that. Anyway, what shocks me is that I don’t think of you all the time. I didn’t cry over you like I probably should have. As bad as you hurt me, I should feel a lot more anger and resentment toward you.
Instead, I’m lonely. But I don’t miss you. You’re not the love I find myself looking back on. It’s weird, really, because that’s not like me at all. The only explanation I can come up with is that you hurt me bad enough to blast me back to another hurt that seems pleasant in comparison. Let that sink in.
I’m sorry that you don’t know what you’re after. I’m sorry I can’t be around to help you figure it out either. I just refuse to risk that much again with you. I’ve always believed in second chances, but right now you’re nowhere near deserving one. If you decide one day that I am what you want, I promise to remind you that you already had me, all of me, right there within reach. Breaking a person like you did isn’t a joke. I’ll walk away in one piece eventually, but you’ll know which scars you left. I’d have any other heartache patch me up before I turned to you again. I know you’re only lost and confused, but I have to hold you responsible for the wreckage that consumes me now.
Maybe someday things will be different. Until then, I don’t have much else to say to you. I hope you know who I am. And I hope you find yourself before you wreck someone else.