I get chills you know.
I’ve changed my phone since but still have his texts. The Whatsapp ones. Every little kiss emoji he sent stills feels so damn fucking real. I keep that beat up old phone around just so you can read them and reassure myself that yes, memories that I have of him from a while ago aren’t something cooked up by my stupid head playing tricks on me. I love him. I’ve loved him. I always will.
Ever loved anyone so much it ended up consuming you?
Ever given someone the liberty to hurt you because they know you’d be around no matter what?
Ever just stood there, loving them more, while they slowly hacked you away, bit by bit?
Well, I have.
It always starts the same way. One of you changes. Maybe both of you do. He starts off as the caring, sweet kinds, always checking in on you. Asking if you ate. How you were doing. If he could come see you. He leaves texts if busy just to let you know he’s with friends and he’s okay and he’ll totally call back later. And he totally does call back. But then three months go by and he doesn’t even remember your birthday, he doesn’t text unless he absolutely has no one around. And the downward spiral of your self-doubt starts building up again.
Always the same old story.
The same unrequited love.
While you love him to the point of exhaustion, making excuse after excuse for him, he slowly starts blowing you off and you’re suddenly at the bottom of his list. That is, if you’re on his list anymore. Maybe at some point you’ve given him sex or given him head and he’s realised you’re not even remotely satisfying to be with. Can you put that crushing feeling into words? At this point, I cannot. I don’t think I ever can. So while you’re being scheduled for calls, he goes to try out his new bong with his new junkie friends. He forgets you exist.
That’s how it ends. Fifty shades of straying away.