How dare you.
Let me say that again, and louder: How dare you.
I know I’m not the best person in the world, and that my moral compass may not be magnetically aligned to perfection (see here and here, specifically), but I hardly deserve this from you. You know how I felt. How I would likely still feel, if not for the anger that is currently bringing my blood to a stinging boil.
I can handle you not wanting me. I get that. It makes sense. Relationships are inconvenient, especially in our line of work, and the Goddess knows how many colossal commitment issues I still carry with me. And certainly now, that any relationship or nonrelationship or arrangement or whatever would instantly translate to a distance-thing, I understand your reluctance, your hesitation. Refusal. Rejection. I’d even understand it if was simply that you didn’t like me.
I’m a tough kid. I can handle that part.
I can even handle your being busy, too busy to talk to me every day, or every week. A quick conversation here and there to catch up is fine. I’m not a needy person, and I’ve certainly never been clingy. I value my independence far too strongly for that. However, a word now and then goes a long way to keep me happy and content in a friendship, or whatever it is you want to call what we do and don’t have.
What I can’t handle is you leading me on, acting like you really want to see me again, like you can’t wait until we have an opportunity to spend time together…and then, when that last, golden opportunity finally arrives, you blow me off.
It was perfect. I didn’t even intend for it to be that way, but that’s how it happened. We had one evening, and then a day, and we could’ve talked and caught up and laughed and watched tv and chilled. But no. You completely and utterly sabotaged any chance that we might meet again. You saw that opportunity to see me, and you chose an alternative that both cost you money and sleep and didn't at all involve me. Further still, when a few unavoidable situations require that we share a public space, you won’t even make eye contact with me. It’s not even that you’re ignoring me, or that I’m simply not there or someone you don’t recognize, it’s like I’m literally someone it pains you to see—or worse—be seen with.
That part really fucking hurts. Pardon my foul tongue, but this is my damn blog, I’ll curse if I want to, and I’m royally pissed off.
And, of course, when I confront you about it, you give me an answer that just puts me to shame and makes everything seem pointless. You know, I really hate you sometimes, in a painful, heart-clenching kind of hate-that-isn’t-really-hate-at-all kind of way. It sucks.
Sometimes I hope against all hope that you’ll read my blog. Then again, it’s probably a good thing that you don’t.
Take care, my Stargazer. Merry meet and merry part, and sometimes, never meet again.