Huh, this is weird. It’s been 3.5 months since you told me “this is why I broke up with you” in your car at 6:30 on a Friday night in June. “Why I broke up with you,” like the deed was already done while you were still in the process of doing it. 3.5 months, and I had to think about when we broke up to count the months- funny, because I unconsciously counted how long it had been each day for the first two months. Well it still hurts a little to look at your new life, even though you’re across the country 3 time zones away, and even though I don’t see anything attractive about you anymore. I wonder if you’ve kissed anyone since June. I haven’t.
Here’s the thing- I didn’t date you, and you didn’t date me. I dated my idealized version of you, and you dated a false impression of me. In my head you were romantic, handsome, thoughtful; truthfully, you are egotistical, callous, and your glasses make your face look flat. So I didn’t know you. But did you know me? Did you think I was the bubbly, compassionate, sympathetic, outgoing chick I projected myself to be? Ha! Don’t worry, I did too. I had lied to myself for so long about being a friendly extrovert to such an extent that I had started to believe it. Then, I boxed myself into my own stereotype – just as you had into your silly self-definition of logical cynicism – and forced myself to be your cute little enthusiastic girlfriend.
Well I don’t know who the fuck I am now, but I’m not the girl who flirted with you to no end last August and loved everyone and loved to talk to everyone. If you saw me now you would think you had ruined me. Actually, you helped me abandon my unreserved facade and embrace my current self. I guess you can’t see me now anyway, since you’ve long left California.
I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you either. You’re just a stranger on my Facebook feed. The one thing that sticks with me now is, how the hell did I ever like you?
Good luck in college. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet again.