“… And he was so harsh.”
“People always say mean things when they’re fighting. That’s normal.”
“I don’t. And I want someone who’s more compassionate, even when he’s angry. You know, so he would still walk me to my car, in the eerie dark streets. Not wish me luck, shut his door, and not look back.”
“What was the problem?”
“He had such a stringent plan for the steps of our relationship. Like we had to be on the path he laid out.
Fear wasn’t accounted for – my emotions weren’t accounted for. He saw no room for doubt, and glitches, and my childish interests. Those were ‘signs’ as he called them.
He called me selfish and made me out as inconsiderate since I didn’t prioritise him, I didn’t spend the majority of my time with him. Yes, I was selfish – but that’s not how. I was so excited and attracted to the idea of dating this nice, mature person who didn’t play games. It was my first constant, normal, serious relationship. That itself made me proud, made me bring it up a lot to friends. Like, ‘look I finally did it.’
But it started because of the idea, not him as him. My body didn’t tingle when he looked me in my eyes. My heart didn’t flutter when he showed me pictures of his niece. Like it should have. I thought that might grow, I thought with time, out of kindness and attention, I’d want to be with him as him. Well it didn’t grow in that one month, I didn’t expect it to. And maybe it was the most selfish to want him to stay around until it did.”