Disappointment. It stings.
I saw you today, for the first time in over two years. I’d gotten glimpses of you a handful of times, but this was the first time we really met. During these two years, I had done everything that I could to get over you. To forget you. I tried my damnest to convince myself that nothing would happen. That I was too good for you. That there wasn’t anything I could do to change your mind. To change your feelings.
It just wasn’t meant to be.
And I managed pretty well. With time, the memory of you, of our times together, became less vivid. They faded, like most do, and I started to think that it was just a crush. That I was young and naive. That I had matured. Gotten over it. Whatever that means. And then things changed.
I started thinking about you again. Wondered how you were, how life was going, and what you were doing. I found it a little strange that I was suddenly so concerned for your well-being, but wrote it off as just caring about a childhood friend. How stupid I was.
I looked forward to seeing you today. I thought that maybe we could start over as friends. Because you really are a great person, and a wonderful friend to have. I was sure I’d grown enough in the past couple of years to be able to handle it. But then I got there and that familiar feeling came back. That special kind of anticipation that only you could excite.
When you entered that room, every ounce of strength and resolve I’d gathered during those two years crumbled. Your mere presence turned me back into the pathetic mess I once was. When you nonchalantly addressed me, pointing out how long it’s been, the butterflies spread a jolt of electricity through my body. And when you hugged me, I clenched my eyes shut and took a deep breath, savoring the short moment of warmth. Even though you’d changed, your voice now a deep baritone and your stature towering over me, you were exactly the same.
It was all exactly the same.
The night was spent in the utmost disappointing way. Like it’s always been. We played the same cat and mouse game where the winner was whoever cared less. And I felt like a fool, because I was the one pretending while you genuinely didn’t care. I think that’s what hurt the most. The fact that I was such a wreck, and you wasn’t. Like it’s always been. You stayed a couple of hours and snuck out without saying goodbye. Leaving me shocked and shaken. The same old routine.
And what sucks the most is that I’ll do it again the next time we see each other. I’ll be so stupidly happy to see you, disappointed to see you leaving so soon, and hate myself for letting you get to me. Again. You were my first. And I’ll never have another you. So I hope you’re happy with yourself. Because I’ll always be here, whether I want to or not. Waiting.