Chances Aren’t

I feel like a pussy. I knew it was going to hurt but I was expecting a pang or a tug on the heartstrings. Instead I feel like I had apart of me ripped out which I was expecting at all. And he did nothing to make me feel this way—instead he was kind and happy to see me. I wish he hadn’t been.

I know it was a couple of kisses, a couple of romantic nights—nothing was promised or guaranteed. We were both drinking—maybe he was lonely, maybe I was just there. I wish he would have done something wrong; hurt me so that I could believe he was a bad person or undeserving of my time.

But it’s not him so the problem is me. And I can’t wonder what that problem is and how to fix it. I do know I have to get over it soon than later. Get over him really. Time will help with that. Really.