The story of my life.
HE tells me I'm so smart, beautiful. Will make "some man very happy someday."
"Why not you?", I would think to myself.
We would have the most intense, heart-revealing conversations about life & friendship & loyalty & happiness... but it was just to prepare HIM for someone else (who didn't quite fit "our" description, but mostly...)
Years would pass, even a decade...a phone call, text, email from HIM to let me know the relationship has failed & 'how have I been doing?'
"I'm fine", I'd reply. "Nothing's really changed for me. Still single. Still hate my job. Still living at home." (Mentally grasping at straws for something more interesting or exciting to share, but coming up with nothing)
The conversation theoretically should have been short (because I'm boring) but "we" would talk for hours, about everything. Reminiscing about the past, what could've been.. revealing HIS secret thoughts or feelings that HE once had, "but was too afraid to tell me."
I'd be inwardly proud, validated by the confession & then later, when the conversation was long over: angry, depressed, disappointed, self-loathing. "Why did HE always do this to me? What was wrong with me, that he didn't choose me instead? What good does this information do me now? It's too late."
I'd lie to myself that I'm glad HE didn't pick me, because I wouldn't want to be the one going through the heartache of failure. I'd tell myself I'm happier being single. Cry myself to sleep & then mentally block out that the conversation ever happened with HIM to avoid the pain.
HE should've loved me first, but HE didn't.