It's been three weeks. Since we spoke. Since we touched. Since my world had something in it that felt special.
Now, it's just me and I was wrong to have thought so highly of you. The memories still make me smile, but they are tempered with the realization that I can see the little lies now that I didn't then. I don't even know if and what you were truthful about.
You liked the attention. Was that it? You said I was the sweetest guy you knew, the nicest person you had ever met. How you said you felt like a loser for saving all my voicemails, but loved each and every one of them? That I was your place to go when you were anything less than a hundred percent happy.
I was there. Where were you?
The one thing that gripes the most is that we friends first. Always flirty friends, but friends with a certain prospect. The distance served to keep it that way. It kept us from immediately hooking up, and I liked that. Months of surprise texts and waiting for each other. It all seemed a foundation we were building. I cared. Every word you composed to me said the same.
Do you still cuddle with the stuffed kittie I gave you for your birthday? Does he still stay on your bed when I'm so far away? Did I mean anything at all to you?
The months I thought we had built a trust. Even if things were to end, we owed all to each other to say it. There didn't need to be anything else. It could have been two sentences. To put that time in and then turn your back with utter silence makes me question everything we ever did and said.