Do you really?
You remembered all that but not my birthday.
You heart-reacted to one of my many messages like I was a Facebook post. You paid for our dinners but expense them off like I was a business client. You started writing back only days later like I was work to you, then tell me you were busy.
“I don’t think you are emotionally fit for long distance” as you made me think that I was asking for too much. I wasn’t. My ache for connection, need for reassurance and desire to be chosen seemed too much. But I wasn’t unfit, I was responding to you distancing from me. We wanted different things yet somehow, we both carried parts of something the other wanted.
We liked the power we had over each other but in such different ways, you liked that I was in awe and I admired your ego. You liked that I am my own person in every room outside of us, and I liked your professional status. Sounded real cool.
Almost thought you missed me, not that it matters but almost thought you did because you should.
You dug your own grave when you told me to have higher standards. You became the bar and you collapsed. You got everything right, but now that I think of it, you didn’t actually get much right at all. So do you really? Yes, perhaps for a moment you did.
Of course you liked me. You liked that I listen. I wore softness like an armor and called it intimacy. I made myself manageable because I believed that you were too busy for me. You see, I liked being a little woman when I was with you but that’s all I will ever be.
You should’ve left it alone or maybe I should’ve been careful what I wish for next time. For this is the gaze I was talking about, how your eyes softened as you grin from ear to ear — except I realize now, that it was the eyes of lust. I mistook your desire for devotion, your hunger for depth and your wanting for wonder.
It might have been different two years ago. But it’s two years later now.
MichelleAKJ 