We were such good friends,
and now you don’t share your secrets with me anymore.
We were so in love for so awhile,
but then one day you just… weren’t.
A simple no turned to a yes
when you asked if you could dance with me the second time.
We had that one, amazing night,
and then again in the morning,
and the following 2 weeks to be exact.
But you never called me.
We dated for a while,
and we were having so much fun,
but something changed and you wouldn’t tell me what it was.
You rejected me though it was suppose to be me rejecting you.
It hurt because I have too much pride.
I was elated that someone like you was enjoying my company,
because I thought you were exquisite.
I thought that you felt something,
because of all the hints you dropped especially that one text.
When you rejected me,
it hurt my ego.
It embarrassed me,
because however small or large the gesture,
I wore my heart on my sleeve for you,
and even wagged it in front of your face once or twice.
It hurt because it made me feel as though I should have known better,
that I shouldn’t have been so rash in my actions.
I should have been the one rejecting you.
It hurt because it highlighted all the terrible things
I always think about myself.
I make a decision every day
not to let my insecurities rule me.
Everyone has irrational fears about themselves,
and I’m determined not to let mine define who I am.
But when you rejected me,
the ways in which I hate myself became harder to suppress.
You were silent
(which is worse because gives my over active imagination pretense to fill in the gaps), your rejection made my nose grow,
my intelligence wan,
and my sanity disappear.
It hurt because it threw my ‘plan’ into chaos.
That friday we were going to go to on that perfect date.
We had plans.
We made plans.
We were going to fall in love.
You were going to be the one.
You met my friends.
We were more than friends.
Everything was going so well that I let my guard down,
and I let my brain chatter with my heart.
Together they concocted a future for us
that your rejection rendered little more than a hopefully mythology
I would have to wallow in alone.
It hurt because you didn’t really seem to care.
You moved on so easily.
Almost instantly,
you found someone else to take to dinner,
someone else to get too drunk with,
someone else to hold .
I hate that the rotation was so easy for you;
that you so effortlessly flicked me off your life
and replaced me with someone you obviously deemed ‘better.’
It hurt because while I was crying you were laughing;
because I meant as much to you
as a story you could tell your friends later.
It hurt because I really liked you.
I liked you so much,
and I couldn’t even tell you
—maybe I knew you were going to reject me?
And if I did tell you,
you didn’t reciprocate,
or you did,
but only to rescind later,
which hurt even more than the solitary rejection.
It hurt because I wanted to be good to you,
and I wanted you to be good to me too.
I thought that maybe I could stop for you,
that I could give up all those other selfish things
because you were inching your way into my heart.
It hurt because after all the inching,
you did find your way into my heart,
where you remain,
irrevocably.
I.WILL.GET.OVER.YOU.
I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW.
