We met at a frat party. I saw you with some of my guy friends across the room and I got butterflies. I was drunk enough to come up to you and introduce myself. If it weren’t for the liquid courage I wouldn’t have done it. Your British accent is what drew me in. I drunkenly asked you to tell me your life story in a sentence and you were taken back. I think my confidence and curiosity is what struck you. It was your charm that struck me. You took me to get a drink and when I went to the bathroom I came out to find a girl telling me that you were looking for me. I’d never had a guy ask anyone to seek me out. We danced and danced and I didn’t even know where my friends were but I could have stayed on that dance floor with you for hours. You made me feel seen.
I mellowed your heartache. I didn’t know it yet but you only dragged things out for a month with me because I reminded you of her. When I would lay with you you were thinking of her. You made her a fucking spotify playlist the week that you broke things off with me. You told me you wanted to be friends but when you passed by me you didn’t even nod or smile. How can you not expect me to be bitter? I deserved better. I still do. I’m not a replacement and I’m not a rebound. I showed you my imperfections. I was vulnerable with you and you were probably just bragging about me with your bros behind my back.
I was upset afterwards for a couple weeks. Not too horribly sad but mostly angry at you for letting things go on for so long and angry at myself for getting so invested. You weren’t even fucking hot. Wasn’t worth my time. I lost study time because of you and sacrificed my gpa so fuck you. I’m glad you taught me about myself and that I can be even more happy and successful academically without the distraction of a fucking boy. I hope you got over her. It’s pretty fucking sad that I still see you playing the playlist you made on spotify. Good luck, buddy.