It’s okay. I may not like you either.
Such a wonderful thing it is, to be chased. To be adored and flattered and most certainly wanted. It is, after all, why we don’t mind when our phones beep and vibrate, letting us know that someone we not so certainly want wants us. But we keep them around because we don’t want it to stop—because that flattery is like a good scotch we want to nurse for a while. Or, at least, until we get sick of it and want to switch to gin.
I’ve been there before—holding on to something I didn’t really want just in case I decided I wanted it. Completely unwilling to cut things off for fear I’d want them again, selfishly holding on because, well, the attention is always satisfying. I’ve played and toyed with someone else’s feelings knowingly aware of the pain I’d be causing but choosing to ignore the reality. And then…
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