You might read this. And I don’t know if I’m okay with that; I guess that’s the price I pay for having a public diary. But I need this.
I tried to convince myself for months that I didn’t like you. I said, “oh it was just a fling, there were no real feelings involved”. I tried to tell myself that it was a convenience thing. You were there and I was there. Unfortunately, it’s not true.
I wasn’t and I’m not in love. Let’s not get crazy.
But it hurt like hell when you kissed me on that train platform just before midnight. I stood at the doors and waved until I watched you walk away.
And then months later; long after that last goodbye, I asked you if things would be different if I was still there, and you said, “yeah I think so”. And I made a sad playlist, cried and wrote you this blog.
You’re a giant “what if” and that’s enough to bruise my heart. I wouldn’t say it’s broken, because let’s not be melodramatic. But I want the time back. Or I want more time. I don’t know. Maybe we would have realized that it would never work because we’re both sarcastic assholes. Or maybe we’d be happy, still going on daily adventures and finding secret places where we definitely shouldn’t be wandering. Who’s to really know or say?
Always, I wish you the best.