Complicated Love Affair

Posted on December 4, 2012

3



I convince myself into and out of contacting you as much as I attempt to blink these feelings away.

I am convinced you care then realise you couldn’t have, as much as I check my phone in the unlikely event you have called.

I type you messages that seem alright, then end up rewriting all the words I’ve typed a thousand times, knowing that either way, whatever I do, think or say, you made your feelings clear when you didn’t fight for me.

You lied, disrespected and hurt me. If you really gave a shit you’d have done something about it by now.

Or maybe you are finally respecting my wishes to not be contacted.

I type a not too long message that is subtle but heartfelt, then delete it and write simply,

Hey. I miss you. Hope you’re ok

It never gets sent.

Every week I amend or clear out the Drafts folder on my phone the unsent messages you’ll never receive. Overall I question whether you deserve me to care how you are. I worry my expressed caring invites only pity, another ego boost, a reason to feel sorry for me because I loved you more than you loved me. I told you I fell for you. I’ve said enough. Too much maybe.

Yet the wistful longing look in your eyes haunts me, the words that left your mouth that said you were scared; the feel of your touch, it hurts like a motherfucker because it made me feel something new and I knew it couldn’t last; your insecurity, vulnerable defensive arrogance, humour and obvious desire for me… Remembering this confuses the hell out of my usual straight up awareness and I think it must have been real, the you and me thing, and for a moment there I’m again wondering if its likely my paranoid thoughts were mirrored by yours, and whether maybe just maybe you’re missing me and thinking about me too.

But if you loved me, you’d want me in your life. It really has got to be that simple.

Hasn’t it?

Written in May 2009, when I wasn’t in my 30’s yet, and relationships were “complicated”.

 

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Posted in: Journal