Disclaimer: Work of fiction. Do NOT freak out. No need to kill people, let’s all be adults here. I needed to rant about something, and here I go again.
Dear (Imaginary?) Boyfriend,
I remember the time when happiness came to me naturally. How old was I back then, two? The only thing that made me cry was too much red chili in my bag of chips. And those were happy tears too, since I wanted more. And all I cared about was that ONE stuffed duck that I insisted on dragging everywhere. And I remember having one favorite shirt that I used to wear. It had cat on it, the appliquéd ears nearly falling off. Mum showed me pictures of a baby me at the airport, shorts on and hair in bunches, ratty favorite shirt in place. Toothiest smile ever and little teeth and sparkly eyes.
God, I was one happy baby.
And then I grew up and I met you. You had me hooked when you said you loved how funny I was, and that I was super cute. And we were together. Just like that, together. We were happy, we’d talk for hours. We’d make time. I’d never understand what changed. You said it was me. I am pretty sure I agree. I’m whiney, I’m hard to be with, I make it remotely far from easy. But you loved it. You loved that I was so different, you said I was perfect.
I’ll never KNOW what changed.
We fight all the time because all I want is your attention. Like one of those kittens that need their bellies rubbed. I know you’re busy and you have a life and stuff to do, but where do I figure? I’ve seen other guys console their girlfriends when they’re sad. I wanted the same – was it too much to ask for? I guess. I know I’m a grown arse woman that doesn’t need to be MOTHERED, and I know you’re not a mind reader, but sometimes when I ask you to leave me alone because I can take care of myself, I mean, “Just hold me.” Sometimes I wish I didn’t cry a million tears every night into my pillow, that every teardrop on my tee shirt didn’t have a story.