We go way back. Waaaay back. I’ve been yours and you’ve been mine for about as long as I can remember. Unfortunately for our illusion of definition, we were never really anything. We were never together, never official. We were just a collection of moments hoping to be a little more and never being able.
I really liked you for a time. You were my first crush, and you’ve been relevant most of the time since then. I promise you I’m not in love with you now. I don’t pine for you or long for you. Whether or not I did once (I did) doesn’t matter, because I survive and thrive without you being a constant thought. There was no bad breakup, or any breakup at all. I don’t know what happened but I guess we just stopped being.
Pictures of you and her together hurt, nonetheless. Knowing that you are fine without me, without even speaking to me on a regular basis reminds me of everything we wanted. We were young and naive but we made plans and we cared and now… Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad that you are happy, and I will keep telling myself that. I am overjoyed that you found someone that was perfect for you, and I’m doing pretty well myself. But pictures of you and her tear through me like a hacksaw. Just a brief moment of “What about me?” but enough to make me feel forgotten. It shouldn’t upset me but it does. I don’t know if it’s specifically you having moved on (even though I have too) or the idea of old friends replacing me that’s worse. I liked being your favourite girl. Now she’s a constant stream of my insecurity on your social media. I’m sure she’s absolutely wonderful and that I’d get on with her if I knew her but jealousy always prevails with me and I don’t want to see her face because I’m scared I’d start disliking her.
I wish you the very best with her, as I’m sure you would for me, but don’t count on my instagram likes.