I keep checking your Tumblr to see if you’ve written any vague posts about me. I keep opening your chat window on Facebook, just to stare at the “Seen at 12:38” underneath the last thing I wrote to you.
“Everything was basically a lie and now there’s nothing left to say. And by everything I mean, the past two years of our relationship.”
Is what I wrote to you. Is what you’ve at least read–but won’t respond to.
I said that after I drunk texted you–I only said “Patrick, why??” at three am after too much to drink and a game of cards against humanity.
Then I apologized for drunk texting you, said it wouldn’t happen again.
I’m just trying to get a reaction out of you.
You said, “Kelly, its okay. Do you want to talk about anything?”
That leads us to where I snapped at you, almost 24 hours after I was drunk and alone.
Fuck you.
I want to talk about the fact you made me believe we had something. I want to talk about the fact you so easily, so easily gave up on the past five years of us with a goddamn facebook message and a “I’m just trying to give you what you need.”
No, you’re not. I needed to feel like I was in a relationship, to feel pretty, to feel wanted. All it really took was a text message and you couldn’t–wouldn’t–give it to me.
So either you abandoned ship at the first sight of trouble or you’ve been in this for the sex.
Both options are not outside the realm of possibility.
I keep thinking this is going to be fixed. We (me?) have always managed to fix things between us. We’ve had plans. At least I thought we had plans.
But now .... ? I said we couldn’t be friends. I’m not happy with that, but after everything, you have never given any indication that I’ve been worth one cent to you.
If you’re not going to run after me, then I guess this really is the end.
But really, sober me still is asking the question, “Patrick, why?”
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