I flitted. Even today, when I think about you, I imagine my body caving in to an invisible force. When they say this is how you feel when you get kicked in the gut, I imagine this is the exact sensation that I feel too. You are, after all, the epitome of betrayal and failure – the two greatest words I simultaneously fear and despise. I once told myself that if I were thinner, prettier, hotter, basically ten kinds of better-looking – you would have fallen for me. My feet would be yours to worship and then I stopped. Why did I use the word worship? This is wrong. My affections for you aren’t there just so you can reciprocate them. I hate how transparent and insecure I had become; I feel myself turning into ten layers of obsession and possession – I imagine myself a snake, slimy and slithery, and I hate myself for being that.
People used to remark about how we have a thing for each other all the time but the truth is, I had a thing for you. You were nonplussed by it. You were the man capped in illusions of perfection. You were the everything I could have invested myself in but of course, life happened. We disintegrated.