He was everything she never wanted. He was insensitive, lost, extremely insecure. He lied, he thought girls were crazy and yet insisted on dating them, he made her dream of their relationship rather than experience it, always giving her less rather than more, letting her mind make up the rest of their time together. She thought now about the possibility of going back to him and was suddenly scared. Months later and here she was again, in the same old place that he’d left her. Why did she yearn for someone who didn’t give her the love she deserved? How could someone, who was all talk and looks and surface-level soul, still be someone she cared so deeply for? Who did she really love: was it him or was it the person she wanted him to be? And why did she still hold hope that he’d be different, after everything, after he’d been through many women and couldn’t keep any of them? She didn’t know. All she knew was that if he showed up and asked her to be with him, she’d say yes. All she knew was that if he asked her to lie next to him, to hold him, to love him, she would. It didn’t take much; he was a nothing that was everything to her. And at night, when her mind wasn’t clear, when the world was dark and her thoughts were, too, she wondered if he was intentionally harming her, or if she was harming herself.
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