I thought it was love. How we started. The phone calls, the instant replies, the vulnerability, the comfort, the meet up, and the friendship. I thought they were all signs of love. Perhaps, I thought it would lead to geniune love, and more likely a romantic love.

He gave me time, and he made time, not knowing that he was doing it to other people too. He was providing the service that he sees equal to everyone, not realising it was just him as a person. He was genuine, not to me, but more to himself. Isn't that how it should be anyway? So, I can't complain.

It wasn't a bad personality to have, it can be admiring and charismatic; but it was also misleading and unmatching on how I saw things, how I felt within.

I guess, his language never understood my own. Perhaps, never met my own.

We may have met for a reason, but the phase was so sudden, that it feels like up until now, I have no choice but to snap out of it.

We will not realise the value of ourselves until we go through the pain of not having any closure, or an answer to why people don't choose us.



© cece