fuck you.
That sounds harsh and I probably don’t mean it but all of a sudden I’m kind of hurting and I don’t like it.
I was ok. I was ok with the sex and with the lying and with everything. Then you had to start loving on me. I was still ok. I was ok when we started kissing more and when you held me for hours. It was even nice.
Then you started talking. You started complimenting me and talking about the future and telling me how badly you wished things were different. You started rearranging plans for me and taking me on long drives and expressing feelings.
And it made me think. And it made me feel. And now it’s made me pissed off.
Now things that you do that didn’t bother me feel like a stab in the heart. I was ok with not talking for days or when you went out with other people or when you asked my advice. I was ok with laughing about other women. I was even HAPPY for you. Sure, I got a little jealous, but it was quickly shut down.
Now you’re happy. With her. You don’t want to snuggle or curl up and watch TV or go for a drive or talk about feelings or kiss or come over or anything.
Fuck you for making me feel and for making me love and for making me abandon this cool nonchalant approach I had to us.
I was ok with being nothing… until you made me something.