To the boy who left me hanging,
I know you’re never going to see this letter, so this is all a shout into the void, but I have to write it.
I miss you. I know that I’m only an hour away from you since I moved back home, but it feels like you live on another planet. Its not like I can make the hours drive to see you anymore anyway. Not since you stopped wanting me to.
I just don’t understand you. You switched up on me so fast. You went from wanting to talk to me every single day, having to be touching some part of me every time you were near me, kissing me like you were about to lose me, to probably not even thinking of me anymore. You told me that I was yours, that you claimed me; you shared with me all of the plans that you had for us, you told me things from your past that hurt you, things that you loved, things that you hoped to accomplish, and I shared all the same with you.
What we had was so different. It was comfortable and easy and fun and honest, the way things should be. I know you say it would be hard to commit to me while I’m living at home, but its only for 2 more months, and then we’ll be living in the same town again.
I’m scared that by the time I get back you will have changed your mind about me. Im scared to death that you already have. I gave you so much of me. I had so many hopes for us and the future, and Im terrified that hopes is all they will ever be.
I think about you everyday. I wonder if you’re thinking of me, everyday. You still haven’t even read the last text I sent you. You’ve started to act like you never even met me. You said you wanted to see me again, but I’m not certain that will happen.
I hate that I became so attached in the short time that we’ve known each other. I hate myself for the feelings I have for you and the feelings I have because of you, and I hate the way that you(re) treat(ing) me. I know that I deserve better. I know that deep down inside of me part of me knows that we could never really work.
I know that I should turn around right now and never look back at you. I know I should, but I don’t want to, because I’m hoping that you’ll turn back around and see that I’m still here.
M
I wrote this about the man that broke me. I was 18, he was 23. Hindsight is always 20/20, but I wish I could go back and tell 18 year old me to stay home. Don’t go back. Stay home with your dog, she won’t be there for much longer. Stay home and love on your parents. Stay home and find your worth. He stole so much from me. I am 22 now and things are so different and better. I wanted to be loved so bad. I can’t believe I even wrote this.
