To The Boys Who Wanted Me

To the boys who wanted me but for whom I couldn’t return my feelings, I hope by now you have realised I did you a favour. A few of you, right after me, have gone on to find your long-term girlfriend, someone who appreciates you the way I couldn’t, someone who sees the light in you the way you once saw in me — thank you. You wouldn’t believe how happy I truly am for you, and how pleased I’m for having been honest with myself and with you about my feelings and decidedly let you go, which might have seemed cold at the time but ultimately came from my utmost adoration and respect for you.

Some of you might still be upset with me. I know because you still didn’t reply to my messages. You even blocked me on social media, which if I must be honest, baffles me. I often ask myself how much I must have hurt you for you to have to avoid me like that. But see, I don’t know. I couldn’t tell how hard you would take the break-off. I was even unsure whether our situation was at a level that requires a serious face to face conversation or a text could do. I couldn’t feel you at all. And that’s why we were not meant to be. You deserve someone who is connected to you enough to understand how you would react to her actions, and that person is clearly not me.

Maybe I’m just awfully clueless about the full extent of my impact on other people, and I’m terrible at remembering loving words and gestures directed at me. So, I always conveniently assume that people don’t really care what I would say or do, I’m just a girl like any other girls they meet and part ways with, and they will soon forget about me anyway. But hear me out. To the boys who wanted me but didn’t have me, did you really want me or the idea of being with someone like me? How could you want me when I never showed you me? The truth is, you were hurt by the rejection, not me personally. You didn’t know me. I didn’t feel for you enough to let you know me, and for that, I’m sorry.

Though, believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you are about not being able to let my guard down and reciprocate your romantic and sexual intentions. I didn’t mean to be this way. I didn’t want to say “I’m scared, I can’t” to someone who rationally would be a healthy and stable choice for me, who told me repeatedly he liked me and evidently took great care of me. I didn’t want to run away from someone’s bed and call an Uber at 4 am to get home from the opposite part of London while intoxicated. I want to be happy. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to cry so much. But I couldn’t do it differently.

I’ve heard it all — you’re interesting, there are few out there like you, let’s do it, don’t be scared, trust me, and longing emails and text messages which are so overdue. I’m flattered, but frankly, to me, they bear no weight. I know they aren’t about me. If I can’t feel you and didn’t reveal myself to you, don’t try to convince me I’m special to you. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t take it to heart. Thank me later and let me go because I’m not for you. I’ve been through enough and I know myself enough to tell you with certainty that I will never be able to see you the way you deserve to be seen. I will never be able to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked. And being with you, I will never be able to be the girl I deserve to be.

And I want to be that girl. The girl who’s present, who doesn’t hold back, who is connected to someone enough to want to show him all of her… all of me — the emotional me, the sexual me, the soft me, the feminine me, the crazy me, the all-too-much me, the vulnerable me, the real me, all so naturally. We both deserve more. You deserve a girl who wants to make you happy like I want to make that someone happy, who thinks of you like I think of him when I’m on that Uber at 4 am and tear up quietly, achingly, realising my body isn’t ready to give his up. A someone like that, he’s my choice but not really a choice. Our meteoroids happen to collide and they explode in the sky of my soul. It’s hopelessly out of my control.

It’s not anyone’s fault. Not your fault you’re not for me. Not my fault I’m not for everyone.

Laugh at me. I don’t have him either. None of us is happy. I might be a 23-year-old cliché and so stupid but… I just couldn’t settle for less again. You understand, right?

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