Sting

“They’ve been dating, but nothing serious. They both understand that it isn’t going anywhere.”

I didn’t respond.

“Does that hurt you?”

Immediately, I lied, “It used to, but not anymore”.

“Good.”

The truth is, it hurts a lot. I hate feeling weak because I fell for someone and saw it going somewhere, when he didn’t. I hate that other people know about it. I hate that someone else can enjoy his company without being fooled into wanting more. I hate myself.

I hate feeling like I keep falling for people and telling them how I feel, and having it blow up in my face. I hate the fact that I’m insecure. I hate how much I want someone to feel the same way about me as I do them.

I hate how this is beginning to sound like a rant, and that I probably sound ungrateful for all of the things I do have: clothes on my back, a roof over my head, and food in my belly.

I hate the phrase “I hate”.

But this is not just about Mr. Swing. This also pertains to Wonder Boy.

I don’t like not knowing how he feels. I don’t like how much I like him, and how much I show it. On the other hand, I don’t like the fact that I sometimes act distant because I am trying to hide how I feel.

I’m a hot mess express.

I shouldn’t be afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve, but I’ve been burned enough times to know the sting.

Readers, do you know the feeling as well?

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