Mistake no. 1
I believed in him. In every fucking word he said. I believed his 5,000 word essay on how everything would be better if Sanders sat on the presidential seat, or how he explained, with perfect accuracy, the differences of psychology and ethics–hell, I even believed in him when he told me–well, not exactly told me–there was always a chance for everybody. Even in love.
Mistake no. 2
I fell for the little things. The opening of doors, the pulling up of seats, the late night conversations, the stay safe and take cares, the covering up of each other’s mistakes so we both could get away with it, even the tiny nudges on the shoulders, the pull on the elbows, the tap on the knees, the brushing of arms, the ruffling of hair–fuck, even the hugs that seemed to only last for a few damned seconds.
Mistake no. 3
I wouldn’t open my eyes. Not even when everything was practically shoved into my face. Not even when everyone was basically pushing me to stay away from you, telling me I was far too precious and deserving for someone else greater than you. That I could meet and have anyone I wanted if I simply accepted the fact that it can’t ever be you. But i couldn’t.
Mistake no. 4
My hands held on for too fucking long. The bruises, the scrapes, the blisters–they were all there, hurting every second, every minute, every day I refused to let go. My heart clenched, pounded, hurt, squeezed, everytime I saw you, everytime i touched you, even everytime I simply remembered you. I guess i found the love i thought I had in pain. That in its reccesses there was something to fix, to turn, to make into something. But I had to learn the hard way that pain will always be pain and that hardly anything nice will come out of it. I don’t know why I’ve always tried to convince myself otherwise.
Mistake no. 5
I loved you a little too less and a little too much. Less when I didn’t give two cents on who the hell you always talked to, laughed with, spent most of your hours on and too much when I tried taking in any means possible what I thought was mine–you.
Mistake no. 6
It took too long to realize.
Mistake no. 7
I still reminisce, you know. About those little moments we’ve shared, topics we’ve tackled, arguments we’ve had, awkwardness we’ve gone through, opinions we’ve debated on–i still remember the twinkle in your eyes whenever i said something you found witty, or the shake of your head when you got too disappointed, or how you used to shut everyone out when you weren’t in the mood, or even, even when you simply smiled–at me, at her, at him, at everyone you knew. I found that quality quite endearing, along with how much of a gentleman you will always be.
Mistake no. 8
I hoped. Too fucking much, i’ll have to admit. I clung to the hope, to the idea of us, never realizing in the first place that it was all a figment of my imagination. That everything I’ve built, everything I wanted, was only there to protect me from myself–from the reality that i was always pushing away. And it hurt when everything crumbled. It really did.
Mistake no. 9
I tried to stay. I tried to patch everything up as if it were some kind of paper that could be fixed with tape but we both knew it was deeper than that. The wound ran so much wider, so much deeper, that it could never be fixed with simple small talks and 45-minute phone calls. This was something that had to take its time. And distance. Fucking distance. I could never quite give that to you or to myself.
Mistake no. 10
I was sorry for myself. But I realized that I could only be sorry for the things I have unintentionally done, for the things I had no control over, for the things that were never quite in my hands. And everything that happened? I knew what I was doing. Every move, every step, every thought, every moment–i knew where I was going. I just refused to see otherwise.