What I had with you felt real to me. That kind of magnetic connection, where you feel like you’ve known someone for years when it’s only been a few hours; that’s what it was for me. I loved how we could stay up all night just talking.
You were still in love with her, which you talked about a lot. I cried when I left your house one morning, because I had fully realized that everything that mattered to you was her.
We were never exclusive, but calling it a fling seems wrong since what we had seemed deeper than that. You didn’t hide the fact that you were on Tinder, and you slowly got busier and busier and had less time for me. So I did what you were doing, and I decided keep dating other people.
When I was on my trip I realized that I was already past the point of no return with my feelings for you. I couldn’t see you anymore, and I knew that I wanted to finally commit to someone who could commit to me. You weren’t that person. And we had one of those awful, fake conversations about our new lives, the kind that seems inevitable after most breakups, and how I had a boyfriend and it was going well, and you had someone. “Oh, that’s great. I’m glad you can find someone better for your needs right now,” I said in the fake nice way. “Actually,” you said. “I’m kind of serious about her.”
I don’t know why that hurt me. It may be because I saw it as a form of rejection, or that I missed you, or that I was sad it hadn’t worked out. I hope she is better for you in the ways that I wasn’t. Whatever it was that we had for those couple months, I hope it meant something to you. Just know it did to me. So thank you, for helping me be a more open-minded, better human being.
I still think about you sometimes, but I don’t want anything to do with you. I can’t, I’m sorry.