He said there wasn’t a spark.
I rather have been called fat, a bitch, or even a ho. I rather have had him tell me that he wasn’t attracted to me, or just wasn’t feeling me. It would’ve still been a hard pill to swallow, but I could digest it easier. To me, not having a spark meant that I was sexy, smart, funny, fun, interesting, and amazing. But that I was still missing something. I was still not good enough.
He said there wasn’t a spark. That something was missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Because even he didn’t know exactly what it was. But whatever it was, I didn’t have. I didn’t give him this spark. He might as well have called me dim, dull, plain, boring, or not special. Because that’s exactly how I felt.
He said there wasn’t a spark. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever been told. I wanted to tell him that relationships are built over time. The strong ones at least. I wanted to tell him that the last person I was head over heels, hearts and flowers, rainbow and glitter in love with didn’t have that spark. But after getting to know him, I felt fire.
He said there wasn’t a spark. I wanted to tell him that I had the spark before. As soon as he walked through the gym, and across the basketball court. I thought his friend was cuter, but our attraction was stronger. But me and this spark? We crashed and burned. I wanted to tell him that sparks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
HE SAID THERE WASN’T A SPARK. I wanted to tell him that a bright flame burns twice as fast. But I can’t, and I won’t. Because I know he has to experience it himself in order to believe it. Because I know – spark or not, I wasn’t it. Because I too, know amazing people that I just wasn’t attracted to in “that” way. Because I don’t have the spark.
And now, I’ve lost my sparkle.