The only reason I’ve left my cocoon of bedsheets is to feed the dogs. After last night’s phone disaster I’ve decided to lay in bed and mope. Acting like you’re fine just being friends with someone who purchased your heart is as difficult as not talking to them at all. There’s a 30 day return policy and he’s 9 years too late to walk up to the customer service desk.
If I allow us to be just friends will we be just friends forever? Will he know deep down when the time comes that he feels something more for me that I want him more than I want to graduate from college or win the lottery? Or will he decide things are fine the way they are and we’d be best to stay friends. That’s a haunting thought.
I’ve realized the more friends have been supportive of my situation the more “I’m sorry” means nothing to me. In fact it almost irritates me. They’re just words. I appreciate the sentiment but drag me out of my house like it’s my birthday and buy me a beer. That’s selfish me talking. The kind of selfish talk as a child you’d revolve your life around because there were people to take care of you. It’s just like how I want to hear “I can’t wait to cuddle when I come home” again from him. Or a “sweetheart” at the end of a sentence.
In the end I’ll wake up every day and go through the motions just like every other day I’ve ever hurt in my 26 years. Some days will be harder than others and other days I’ll enjoy parts of them or feel accomplished or laugh. Who knows if without what I want the most I’ll ever be truly happy.