Aug 12
She doesn’t care for me.
The realization settles slowly, like a cold mist creeping in at dawn, wrapping itself around me until it chills me to the bone.
I had clung to hope, even as it unraveled thread by thread, weaving excuses and justifications out of her indifference.
But now, the truth is stark and undeniable, cutting through my illusions with a sharp, merciless edge.
It wasn’t one moment that revealed it, but a thousand small ones—the missed calls, the unreturned texts, the way her laughter never quite reached her eyes when we talked.
OI was always the one reaching out, extending my heart in hopes that she would catch it, hold it, cherish it.
But she let it slip through her fingers, as if it were no more than sand, something to be brushed away without a second thought.
I see it now, in the way she turns her attention elsewhere, her gaze drifting to anything and anyone but me. The conversations that once felt so full of promise are now just empty words, spoken out of obligation rather than affection. Her smile, once warm and inviting, has become a mask, hiding the distance that has grown between us.
She doesn’t care for me, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear.
I feel no anger, no resentment—just a deep, aching sadness, a sorrow that settles in my chest like a stone.
I wanted to believe that I was special to her, that in me she had found something worth holding onto. But now I see that I was just another passerby in her life, a fleeting presence that she could take or leave without a second thought.
I should have seen it sooner, should have noticed the way her interest waned, the way her words became few and far between. But I was blinded by my own hope, by my own desire to believe that she cared.
I told myself that she was busy, that she had her reasons, that it was only a matter of time before she would come to me with the warmth I so desperately craved.
But she doesn’t care for Mel, and now I’m left standing in the shadow of that truth, trying to find a way to let go of the hope that has kept me hanging on for so long.
It’s a hard truth, a bitter one, but it is mine to face. And as I stand here, alone with this realization, I know that I must find a way to move forward, to reclaim the pieces of my heart that I had so willingly given to someone who never truly wanted them.
She doesn’t care for me.
And that’s ok
. I will care for myself, now.
The realization settles slowly, like a cold mist creeping in at dawn, wrapping itself around me until it chills me to the bone.
I had clung to hope, even as it unraveled thread by thread, weaving excuses and justifications out of her indifference.
But now, the truth is stark and undeniable, cutting through my illusions with a sharp, merciless edge.
It wasn’t one moment that revealed it, but a thousand small ones—the missed calls, the unreturned texts, the way her laughter never quite reached her eyes when we talked.
OI was always the one reaching out, extending my heart in hopes that she would catch it, hold it, cherish it.
But she let it slip through her fingers, as if it were no more than sand, something to be brushed away without a second thought.
I see it now, in the way she turns her attention elsewhere, her gaze drifting to anything and anyone but me. The conversations that once felt so full of promise are now just empty words, spoken out of obligation rather than affection. Her smile, once warm and inviting, has become a mask, hiding the distance that has grown between us.
She doesn’t care for me, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear.
I feel no anger, no resentment—just a deep, aching sadness, a sorrow that settles in my chest like a stone.
I wanted to believe that I was special to her, that in me she had found something worth holding onto. But now I see that I was just another passerby in her life, a fleeting presence that she could take or leave without a second thought.
I should have seen it sooner, should have noticed the way her interest waned, the way her words became few and far between. But I was blinded by my own hope, by my own desire to believe that she cared.
I told myself that she was busy, that she had her reasons, that it was only a matter of time before she would come to me with the warmth I so desperately craved.
But she doesn’t care for Mel, and now I’m left standing in the shadow of that truth, trying to find a way to let go of the hope that has kept me hanging on for so long.
It’s a hard truth, a bitter one, but it is mine to face. And as I stand here, alone with this realization, I know that I must find a way to move forward, to reclaim the pieces of my heart that I had so willingly given to someone who never truly wanted them.
She doesn’t care for me.
And that’s ok
. I will care for myself, now.
