“Your words sound hollow in my jealous state.”
“Jealous? When do you ever get jealous?”
“When there is something I can’t have, that I gave up. And every memory with it stings and every memory without is even more unbearable.”
Funny. You only seem to want what you can’t have, be it girl or job. You tell me you still love me but where is this love? I can’t see it, I can’t touch it. I can’t feel it. I can hear it. I can hear some words, but I can’t do anything with your easy words. And every time you offer up that three-syllable lie, I want to push you further and further away.
You’re an idiot. A complete idiot. You had me and I could’ve loved you. But how does one love a man who refuses to be loved? For all your sweet words, you never convinced me of any genuine affection. And now I think it’s too late, because for us, there is no matter of friendship. My platonic standards are more demanding than my romantic ones. I never liked you. You treated me unkindly. As a boyfriend, you were endlessly disappointing. As an ex, you’ve managed to be worse.
3,000 miles is not something either of us can change, but if you were going to call everyday, if you were going to tell me how utterly amazing you think I am weeks after we’re over, if you were going to kiss me the morning of my flight to Boston, then one would think that you would have approached our breakup with a tad more tact.
I spent the better part of late summer trying to free myself from thoughts of you, but it wasn’t until I breathed Cambridge that your taste finally left my tongue. Today, I came across photos of us and we seem so utterly mismatched that the idea of ever having dated seems ludicrous at best.
I lied. I don’t miss you. I haven’t since I boarded the plane.
“Are you afraid that I am going to fall out of love with you?”
Are you afraid that I am going to call your bluff?