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Margaritas 31, Female, Canada - 14 entries

Mar 2013
11:08 PM EST

I was really happy

I was really happy you know. I was happy in the morning, when I received a message from you. You would think of me as soon as you woke up sometimes. Sometimes you wouldn't answer my messages at night out of fear to wake me up, so I'd wait for the answer and only receive it the next morning. Mornings were happy times with you. Days were happy too. I didn't mind for grades or crazy workload, because I had you. Because if the prof endlessly talked about the World Bank or demand and supply, I could just think of you. The afternoons were happy times. When you asked me to see you, when we would meet. Me, so organized and punctual; I wouldn't mind for last minute plans, maybe a little for last minute cancelled ones. But I was happy to see you and I was not scared at all. Just being in your arms was enough for me, holding hands was happy times too. I didn't mind that you didn't let me touch your hair, even if I love doing that, even if from our first date, that's all I wanted to do. I didn't mind giving up some of myself to you, changing was not a problem either, because these were happy times too. And nights were happy times too, even if I wasn't with you. I could fall asleep so fast, because I felt so good. And I learned a little more about me and so little about you. And I knew from the start that we wouldn't last. I knew it. Because you didn't understand me, you never did. Even if you tried. The problem is when people try. It wasn't natural, but it was artificially happy. For once, I felt I could be stable. I wasn't myself around you, but I didn't mind. For example, I know you would never understand this message, you would never understand why I write to you now. But for me it is so simple. Because even if you didn't respect me, if you never told me what I was for you, you made me happy, and that's all I wanted then. You lied to me, but I lied to myself. So we're even. I guess. You made me believe you were perfect, but from the moment you asked my sister's permission I knew you were going to hurt me. Because those who ask permission are those who know they souldn't do something, but they try to have an alibi. And even if I don't think of you anymore, when you appear in my dreams is curious to talk to you and to let you show me your selfishness, which is the first thing I saw of you. So, I guess if I suffered at the end, it was all my fault, but I was sad that you could let me goso easily.�

Tags: nostalgia

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