The fantasy of the white-picket fence doesn’t allure me, nor will it ever. Which is why I’m always so confused when I attract such straight-laced, stable, men. Who want to go to college, get a job, and have sex 2.5 times a week (tops) for the rest of their lives.
Don’t act like men like that don’t exist, they do. And don’t scoff at their dreams of happiness no matter how normal those dreams seem to you. Happiness is happiness and no one can take that away from anyone.
What confuses (and hurts) me the most, is knowing I will never be able to provide that life for them. I can’t give them that sense of normalcy while still staying the same girl they fell in love with.
We both know it. We’ll feed into the lie as long as possible, as long as we are both mutually content with the unspoken agreement of what’s to come. Either I adapt to my new surroundings or I give up and run away from what most girls call the final prize.
Now I’m not completely at fault for “us” not working, when I had been so honest with what I wanted in my life from the get go. Yet, we are both guilty of blindly looking the other way every time reality reared it’s ugly head.
I was selfish. But so were you. We both wanted what the other wouldn’t provide. We both knew it was a possibility, too. That’s what makes it so much harder now. We’ll always hate each other for that reason alone. Especially for knowing we exposed ourselves to what could have been, if we had both tried a little harder. If we had both sacrificed a little bit of us.
But we didn’t. I don’t think we ever will. It’s what makes us so unattainable, yet so attractive to the opposite sex. In that sense, we are the same.
I know exactly what you want. And I know exactly what you need. They are not the same thing. And don’t even pretend like they are, cause if that were case, we wouldn’t be here.
You hate me. Just admit it. You hate everything that I represent in your life. You hate everything that is missing in your life because of me. I’m okay with that. I will always be okay with that.
What we were, was different. What we were, made me rethink about what could come. But at the end of the day, I still chose me. And I’m sorry.
And I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.