We all have this person in our lives. They’re not quite a lover, but I wouldn’t exactly call them an ex either. They’re just… there. Like a memory I can’t completely get rid of, like a persistent smell in the air. We shared something special, but it had no name. More than friends, less than soulmates. Almost lovers, perhaps? Ex-flings? Whatever.
I was merely his warm blanket to curl up with when he gets cold. I answered phone calls that I shouldn’t have. I knew deep down that I was only a distraction for him when he felt lonely. Nevertheless, I continued in doing it because the small amount of attention and the sense of need that you gave was addicting. I craved it, even if it was only for a short time. I would admit that, even if it was just for a few while, I have always yearned for the sense of being someone’s comfort and someone who matters.
Our past was somewhat unique. It seemed to be fate. A perfect match, I thought. Still, questions concerning free will and predetermined paths remain. Clearly, I haven’t learnt. I hope He shows mercy, for my my choices haven’t proven wise.
It hurts to let him go. I was afraid that without him, my life wouldn’t be as romantic. Yes, that’s how I play. Even though I know I should have broken this habit, I still dig my own “love and thrills” grave. He assumed I was quick to pick things up and that I would eventually get over him. But guess what? I not exactly a fast learner. Never the first choice, never the second choice — just an option. It was pathetic, but as long as he was, too, it was fine. Misery loves company, I guess.
Get over him already! is what everyone says. I broke my friendships with people who didn’t get along with him. Defended him from my parents. He was beyond help. I gave him everything I had. I turned into someone I shouldn’t have been. But every time he calls… ̶I̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶s̶w̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ . I always will, of course, answer it.
Hey are still there?
Good.
I’m lonely, he says. He looks ugly when he cry. He’s both lucky and pathetic.
He’s that person. Even though I knew that we wouldn’t work, I couldn’t help but picture a different ending. Maybe we were both just too stubborn, too scared, or maybe, just maybe, the timing was truly off.
And now there are just what ifs and buts. What if I had said something else? What would have happened if he had witnessed what I did? What if one day he simply woke up and recognized that I was the one for him. I see him returning, full of regrets and promises, pleading for a second chance. I picture him missing my warmth, my laugh, and every feeling I gave him. I wonder whether he ever thinks about me, if he is experiencing the same pain that I am.
Maybe I believed that he would eventually see me the way I saw him if he stayed a little longer. Maybe then he’ll appreciate me and give me what I deserve. Maybe it was my parents’ fault, the way my mother kept bleeding my stride and my father couldn’t keep his eyes straight. Maybe they’re the reason I keep chasing ghosts like this.
I can cry out, I hate him! But even that is a lie that vanishes into thin air. He’s not someone I can ignore, forget, or move on from. Deep down, I know I’m stuck. No matter how much he messed up, he will always have a special place in my heart. I always forgive him, every. single. time. Why? I am drawn to his warmth like a moth to a flame, knowing it would only singe my wings. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t be helped. I am also. I was just unable to accept that. Or maybe I just don’t know anything better.
As long as he thinks of you, you’re good, right?
As long as he thinks of me, I’m good.
This is not a love story. No happily-ever-after with someone else, no fairy tales, and no heartfelt goodbyes. Until one of us leaves, this cycle will never come to an end. And it’s not going to be me.
That’s the real story, harsh as it is.
