You said the things I wanted to hear, even though I didn’t ask you to say them. Then, when I needed , when I asked for you to say something–anything really–you said nothing.
You didn’t fight for me. You let me go as if I meant nothing to you to begin with.
You and you and you and you and you and you, you all didn’t want me.
You and you and you and you and you and you, you all didn’t even notice me.
You hit on me. You asked me for my number. Then, you never called.
You did that too.
You went out with me for awhile because I asked you to. Then, you just stopped returning my messages. No explanation.
You did that too.
In exchange for taking me to a movie, you asked me to proofread your essay. I kept my end of the deal. You didn’t.
You said that you couldn’t because my brother was your friend. Then, you dated another friend’s sister for two years.
You said that you couldn’t because my brother was your friend. Then, you kissed another friend’s sister.
Over a home cooked lunch date you told me that you weren’t looking for a relationship. I said I wasn’t either. But you didn’t even try get into my pants.
You left me. You just left. To live your life. A year later, you came back–life, from what I could tell, unlived–telling me you never loved me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to forget that. Because you were the only one I’ve ever really loved.
***
Ghosts whisper within us.
But sometimes?
Sometimes, they really shout.*
(*Paraphrased from something I once read in a journal article by David Barash. Original quote: ‘Our genes whisper within us, they do not shout.’)
