You sent me a message. I ignored it.

You sent another.  I sent a one word reply.

So you ask, “Are we ok?”

I want to answer. I really do.

No. We are not ok.

You are ok. And i am ok. But we are not ok.

I want you to know.

I want you to know what it feels like to spend close moments together for years… And have your lover-friend go out of their way to avoid letting anyone know.

I want you to know what it feels like to be called a “Fallback” in a joking way, but not as a joke.

I want you to know what it feels like to watch your lover-friend return from a trip with you, and talk of the days, the weeks, like you were never there. As if they were having an illicit affair… But neither of you are married…

You should know the pain and humiliation of knowing that they were just too embarrassed to admit they had been with you.

I want your heart to crush when your lover-friend meets someone else, travels and spends time with them, and proclaims he was with her from the rooftops to anyone who will listen…

Because the new one isn’t a fill-in.

They are important. And worthy. And wanted.

And you are not.

But i can’t say it. I can’t. Because as hurt as i am, part of me feels i deserve it.

Part of me loves you too much to wish the pain on you.

And all of me knows i could have stopped playing along ages ago.

The need to be loved is stronger than any other, and we fill it however we can.

Even if it means making ourselves disposable.

Even if it means trusting in a person who won’t admit they know you, and doesn’t care enough to see how much it hurts.

So, no, we are not ok. We are not.

I am angry. I am hurt. And the pit of my stomach sinks deeper.

Because i was the friend, the lover, you couldn’t admit you had.

And you, my friend, are an asshole.