I’m not okay.
I feel an amalgam of emotions, none of which are at its full potential, but enough to make me replay as many moments I can remember of you and I. Enough to make me question my actions, words, responses, or perhaps, it was my lack of presence that turned you away. Our time spent was short, much too short to justify me dwelling on you for more than a week, but it hurts just the same. Giving a piece of yourself to someone who doesn’t want it, will always hurt. The first time, the second time, the 50th time, and the last time; it just hurts.
Part of me can’t help but blame myself. I was too cautious, too calculating, too obstructed, and far too stubborn and hard headed to cast aside my inhibitions and doubts to reveal my true desires and needs. I didn’t want you to see my flaws, or that I wanted as much time and attention as every other girl. I can be demanding, and needy too. I made things easy and simple, even if that meant keeping mute with my thoughts and opinions. You are far too wonderful of a person, and honestly, I didn’t think I deserved any of it.
So despite my conscious effort to appear as mostly rational and reasonable, I wasn’t. Because if I was, I would have acknowledged the signs and your lack of effort and dedication. I would have followed my instincts and realized that when you said you were busy, you meant you were too busy for me. But against all logic and my better judgment, I liked you anyway and continued to purse something I never had a fair chance to attain in the first place.
So now I wonder, if it would have been me if I had been more myself. Me, a girl who is clumsy, vulnerable, silly, emotional, naive, excited, impulsive, careless, and always far too hopeful for her own good. Me, who has a long list of past (and recent) mistakes that I’m not proud of, but grateful for, because I know it has only shaped me into the person I am now, and truthfully, I like who I am.
I almost feel like I robbed myself (and maybe you too), the possibility of exploring anything beyond what we had (or didn’t have).
At the same time, I question if it would have made any difference. Or if I am only telling myself this because to say I wasn’t enough as someone I tried to portray, is far less painful than admitting to giving it my all and still not being enough. There is no real answer, none that logic can conjure up.
I get it. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
It’s not even that, it’s not you or me. It’s just the nature of things, and the fact is, there is never a plausible explanation when feelings are involved.
So no, I’m not okay.
But I will be.