“Read some of your posts and remembered how fly you are,” the text said.
Funny, I didn’t think you could tell how good I look by the words I write. Also funny that he could never spell my name right. Even funnier that I was so fly he never not once took me out. Downright hilarious. Even I can’t help but laugh at how stupid fly I must look. Funniest that I just barely got him out of my system, and he hits me up like that. Of course he does. They always do.
“It’s not that I had a preference or anything,” he said.
I could’ve slapped him right then and there. Instead, I continued to sip on my lychee martini. It was delicious, and too good to throw in his face. Besides, I wasn’t mad. Just that annoyed that he still couldn’t seem to comprehend that even if he did prefer her – I didn’t care. What I cared about was him denying it, denying her, and putting me in a fucked up position without giving me a choice. It has nothing to do with pride and ego, but everything to do with RESPECT.
I would see him everyday when I walked to work … even when he wasn’t really there. Just looming over my head like I’m the only one that needs an umbrella. Two constant reminders of how I sold myself short. And just when the anxiety ceased, and I was able to enjoy my walks, he rolls in on his bicycle and all I can do is look at my feet. Things have changed, but one things for sure – there’s still something there. I still care more than I should.
“Well, good luck. See you when you’ve learned French and I’m a best-selling author,” I said.
“Or maybe I can see you later tonight?” he said.
I didn’t see him later that night, and will probably never see him again. But the part that bothers me is even if I said “no” to every invite, I know every part of my insides would still be staring up at me with puppy-dog eyes nudging me to go.
The universe has a fucked up way of reminding you how far you’ve come. It has an even more fucked up way of letting you know you still have a long way to go.