“I want you.” You said.

No. You wanted the fantasy, not me. I wanted you to want me, and as much as you said you did, you hardly ever proved it.

Liking me isn’t the same as wanting me. If you really wanted me, you would have made time for me. You would have opened up more and communicated with me. If you wanted me, you would have asked me to spend time with you outside of the bedroom.

You never wanted me. Just what you could get from me.

But I wanted you. I wanted you so bad that I ignored my own needs and focused on you… even after weeks of silence, I messaged you regardless. I reached out, to check in. I rarely got anything from you, except for the excuses you gave, explaining why we couldn’t be together. Or why you were radio silent for so long. You apologized, but nothing ever changed.

I wanted you… all of you. Even the ugly parts you hate about yourself. I wanted it all… but my wants don’t matter. I’m old enough now to know that it doesn’t matter what I want, what matters is what I need…

I need someone who proves that they want me with their actions. I need someone who can see my worth, and say “She’s worth me being the man she deserves.” Instead of telling me I deserve better, and then refusing to be better.

You never really wanted me. If you really wanted me, you would have never ghosted me. You would have tried to work on our relationship. But no… you didn’t really want me, you wanted to keep me as an option, just in case you needed someone to take advantage of.

And the shitty part, I wanted you so much I was willing to let you keep hurting me… until I started loving myself, and I realized that you would never be the man you said I deserved.

You never wanted me.