April 21, 2025
by Kiera Matthews

I used to write about you in my diary, every little detail, every moment that made my heart race. I even told my friends about you—about how I thought you were different, how I thought I could trust you, how I felt like I could finally breathe when you were around. It was all so new, so thrilling. And I was willing to give you everything—my first kiss, my first time… I thought that’s what you wanted, too.

But then you told me about that random girl. How you slept with her to get back at your ex. I didn’t know what to say. My stomach twisted into knots, and I tried to act like it didn’t bother me, like it didn’t mean anything. But how could it not? You made me feel like I was just another chapter in your story, something temporary until you got over whatever was eating at you.

Your idea of a “first date” was booking a hotel room. Mine? Mine was visiting a museum. I thought we could talk, maybe laugh, share something beautiful. Instead, you made me feel like I was wasting your time.

And when I told you I passed my test? I was so proud of myself, and all you said was, “I’m glad for you,” but your eyes didn’t show it. You were the second person I told, and somehow, you made me feel like I shouldn’t have been so happy. Like it wasn’t worth celebrating.

But you didn’t stop there. I tried to lean on you when I was upset, when everything felt like it was falling apart, and all you did was ask me to stop crying so you could watch a movie with your friend. I wasn’t important enough for you to care, and that hurt more than I can even explain.

I read your favorite book, I watched your favorite show, I learned everything about your favorite game, thinking it would bring us closer. I thought if I could understand you more, maybe I’d finally feel seen. But in the end, all it did was show me how much you didn’t care to understand me.

And when I wanted to talk—when I needed to talk to you—you got angry. Like I was bothering you. Like my feelings were just an inconvenience.

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I realized you weren’t who I thought you were. And maybe I wasn’t who you thought I was, either. But I can’t keep pretending anymore, not for you, not for anyone.