7/26/14

Sometimes i really start to question the validity of these relationships that we lead ourselves to believe are necessary. Up until today,  I believed that I loved someone who treated me worse than I treat myself, something someone should never do. I don't know if this is something applicable to only my thoughts and how i treat myself, but if i could; i would change everything about who i am down to my very being. And the sad truth is that i didn't get butterflies anymore. I wonder if that's how i knew that it was the end. I had been thinking about the beginning for a long time, replaying that night over and over again in my head. Ghosted over the one I had last night, the one where he took me to a party and pretended that he didn't know who I was, as I sat freezing outside playing drinking games with people I didn't know, and trying to pretend that I hadn't pictured that it would go differently when he asked 'what did you expect' as I tried to come up with an acceptable answer.  I couldn't even feel hurt anymore, just overwhelming sense of disappointment.
By the moment when you feel disappointment over anger or hurt, it's over. It was such a beautiful, wonderful idea in my head. You can imagine the way i felt when the guy i had been daydreaming about since the fifth grade, the very one who had kissed me on a Friday of 2013 had asked me to stay with him, this was a big deal. People we both knew would see us together, I was so proud  that he could finally get over whatever childish fears he had to be hanging out with someone that was attached to his old life. Now, picture the worst outcome to the situation. He didn't want to go out, there weren't any parties, i was cold? Should have not dressed so slutty, in my jeans and halter top.
 I wasn't even angry. I was just disappointed. The kind of disappointment you feel in the very corners of your heart, when you aren't entirely surprised but still  holding onto this idea that somewhere deep down everything will be alright. And maybe it will be, then again maybe the books i read and  the people i romanticize on the street have all simply been what they are. Stories. It feels like a part of me is being buried alive and I can't scream. I'm screaming and the world is still turning, and the sun is setting, and life is going on as the world i created is disappearing and i need to sit down. I wonder how many times we're bound to feel this pain in our lives, how many times we will experience this hurt over and over again before we decide that we are finished running in circles. I wonder what i am doing wrong. I wonder why it is so hard to be wanted by those you long to want you most.
If my life were a book some handsome dark price would have waltzed into my life long ago. I don't know if I would change anything if i were to go back and do it over that friday in the summer of 2013 though, because my god. Before I hit the gravel, I could have sworn that I was flying.