Dear you (again),
You come back to me a month after we last talked, saying that you’re sorry? You’re sorry? You should be sorry. You made me feel like I wasn’t a person – like I deserved to be treated exactly as you did towards me on that last day we spoke. After you went on your little rant, talking about how I was a narcissist, how I never listened to anything you said, how I always talk like I am asking you for pity. I’m sorry, but I do not want your pity. You misunderstood my intention, and I cannot help that. I never said that I thought you were stupid when I had to repeat whatever it was that I had just said; it never even crossed my mind – those words came from you, not me. I never intended to make you feel that way, but you clearly wanted me to feel as horribly as you did about a month and a half ago.
Honestly, I’m not so sure I should have forgiven you as easily as I did. Maybe I only did it because I missed you. I missed having more than one person to talk to about whatever I wanted to. I missed being able to look at my phone and smile whenever I saw a message from that person I’d been waiting to hear from all day. I probably shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help but miss you because you made me feel like everything was okay. Anytime I got to talk to you, I would get this huge, stupid grin on my face, and I would completely forget whatever had been bothering me. And it never seemed like that to you, I guess, because I’m terrible at expressing my feelings to other people. But trust me, it’s the truth; I have no reason to lie about this.
As an example of what you do to me, let’s talk about this: every time I would get a notification on my phone, I would secretly hope that it was you, even in that time we did not speak for a month. And when it was? Jeez, when it was you, I felt like one of those giddy teenage girls that people always make fun of on movies and sit-coms. I’ve never had that feeling before. And I feel weird just typing it out, knowing that some of my classmates very well may read it. But it’s the truth. I don’t want it to be, but it is. I’m usually the type of person to hold grudges – believe me – and this one, I can’t seem to even mend, which is typically the easiest part for me.
Sincerely,
someone who wishes that when they said goodbye, they meant it
