Untitled: An Unfinished Story

Untitled: An Unfinished Story

It was the end of December 2016, maybe 2, 3am California time. I wake up to the buzzing of my phone. Initially I think it was a text but the buzzing persists. It’s 5am in Florida and he knows I’m sleeping, what could he possibly want?

“Hello,” I say still half asleep.

“Oh hi, sorry did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. Is everything okay?”

“I just had a really bad dream that you left me and didn’t want to ever talk to me again and I just needed to hear your voice. I needed to know it was okay .”

It’s now the beginning of June 2017. I had forgotten about that memory until about a week ago. A memory of you desperately craving me; a memory of me still hesitant to open my heart fully to the man who had become my best friend just a few months prior; most importantly a memory of you and me when we were still considered a you and me.

You ended it with me two months ago but I know I was the one that fucked it up. I gave you the reason to end it for good. I always had my insecurities, I always had my doubts, and I always had my fear. A deadly combination for any relationship. I let these insecurities, doubts, and fear get the best of both me and us. Now I’m left alone having greater regrets than I’ve ever had before. I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love for the first time in your life.

I understand why you ended it. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever be happy about it. I still don’t know when the pain will go away. I still don’t know when I’ll stop feeling like Megan is no longer one of my best friends, in large part to you. I want to hate you, I really do, so badly especially for what you did to Megan and I. But I can’t. I can’t hate you and I think it has to do with the fact that you were my best friend above anything. I feel like it would be hating a friend and not a lover (and I can’t believe I just used that term because I royally despise it — I can already envision you smirking at that thinking Typical.)

I think that’s why it still hurts so much though because you truly were my best friend. I saw something the other day about how a friend breakup is so much more painful than a boyfriend breakup and I relate to that on every possible level. I lost my best friend and not by choice.

The world was stacked against us, and we made it work for awhile but eventually the distance and complications of our relationship caught up to us. Although I feel like I was the only one that got hit and you were able to run on moving forward without missing a beat. I think a little part of me will always think you were the right guy at the wrong time.. I wonder if we’ll ever find out for certain. Maybe one day we’ll be “you and me” again, probably not. But hopefully a day even before that we’ll be friends again.

I know I’m the one that cut off communication but I hope you understand why I had/have to do that until I get over you just as I understand why you ended it for good. I do hope to talk again one day, I do hope we become friends again because we were so good at that, everyone saw it, and I refuse to believe this is how our story ends.

The Fuckboy

The Fuckboy

Us girls grew up watching movies where the main actress always fell in love with the asshole and she continuously failed to see The Other Guy standing by her side. This Other Guy, he was such a good guy. He could care for the girl like no one else could and love her more than she thought was capable. As a viewer, it was infuriating watching because that never happens, we always recognize the good guys who deserve our love when we see them… Or so I thought.

I have a good guy. He cares about me. He treats me well. He wants to spoil me although I don’t let him. God he’s such a good guy. And the thing is I want to like him so badly. I want to return those feelings he has expressed so deeply for me but the truth of the matter is, another guy has my heart. And he doesn’t even know it…. But maybe he does?

This guy is no good guy: he is textbook definition of “a fuckboy.” He plays with my emotions and maybe he does know he holds the combination to the safe hiding the key to unlock the chains that have forever surrounded my heart. So why do I like this Fuckboy? Why do I like him when I have that Other Guy, The Nice Guy vying for my attention? I have told myself countless times, rationally speaking who is better to have feelings for (Spoiler alert: it’s The Nice Guy). But all those cliches I’ve learned since before I can even remember keep replaying in the back of my head: Ultimately, I have to have trust in what my heart is feeling and forget about what my head is trying to piece together.

My heart is telling me The Fuckboy makes me laugh. My heart is telling me The Fuckboy gives me butterflies. My heart is telling me I would rather love The Fuckboy with every ounce of my being even if it ended in my heart being broken more than it’s every been broken before. I’m willing to be vulnerable for him and open my heart up to him if he gives me the chance.

I have this chance with The Nice Guy but the difference is I don’t want this chance with him. Like I’ve said, I want to like him so badly but at the end of the day I have to be honest with myself and the truth is we just don’t mesh well as a couple.

One day I will find a man that makes me laugh and makes me want to love like The Fuckboy but he will also love me more than I ever thought capable like The Other Guy. I will find another Other Guy one day and he’s going to make me happier than I’ve ever been in my life and I can’t wait for that day. But in the meantime, I can’t wait for the journey to find him, even if it means breaking hearts and getting my heart broken.