He was my person. For months he was the person who made me feel something again. The person who made me smile. The one who I thought I’d be able to fulfil my dreams with. The first person who really saw me. He’d had his heart broken. He told me his stories. The way he hurt. We talked about how similar we were. We became so close.
Everyone around us told us there was something there. They’d ask. I’d shrug. But it made me ask myself. Convince myself there was. Your legs over mine at the table of the after party of the show we saw. You squeezing my hand as you looked in my eyes on stage. The advice you gave when I was upset. The time we spent together alone. Everyone said to just ask him. Everyone said he wanted it too. So I did… he didn’t.
“We shouldn’t professionally and personally… I don’t feel that way and I can’t change that… I’m not ready for that…” all in quick succession leaving me with whiplash. Then we pretended like nothing happened. Overcompensated and were more couple-y than ever. Until you realized how that looked. You thought the best option was to go cold. You were so scared of hurting me. At least that’s what you told my friends. So I called you out. You promised to be a better friend. It took some time but you were for awhile until you started stepping back again.
And now I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me think I’m not enough. I hate how you make me second guess if you even consider me a friend anymore. I hate how I’m thinking you only want me for the opportunities I bring. I hate that you never message me first. I hate that you don’t tell me things. I hate that I still have this love for you I’ve never felt before. And I hate that I don’t think you’ll ever love me. That I will never be who you want. I hate you for making me hate me.
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