You Were Just An Idea

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Dear the Idea I Made,

 

You’re not real, you never were. Okay you are real; you are human however I dehumanized you when I wrote you in way only a hopeless romantic can write. I’ve read somewhere that it’s treacherous to think of a person more than a person. It’s not flattering or that you love them enough to see them more than what they see themselves, it’s sad. Why create an idea of who they are when they already have their own identity?

 

I forgot that. I saw through your flaws, I saw through everything you did and said wrong. I disagreed but why did I think that it’s love when I accept it? I shouldn’t have because I knew what was wrong and I did nothing but saw it as a sign of deeper affection towards you. I was delusional not in love.

 

My friends told me I was in love, my parents asked me if I was in love and I convinced myself I was. Heck I believed it. I believed in everything I wrote about you. I believed that the universe mocks me when it’s giving me signs that we’re not meant to be. I believed it was because it’s not our time to meet or have a relationship. I was in the mind of a hopeless romantic not a mind of a realist.

 

I made you my manic pixie dream boy. I made you paper to make the analogy better. I made you paper because my ideas of you were written and that was all I noticed. Like I said I knew your faults, I said faults and this time I don’t consider them imperfections. Because there is nothing imperfect about you, you are flawed as any other human being but you have your wrongs.

 

Your actions, your words I should’ve heard and seen them not ignored them. I ignored every single one of them. I’ve made excuses for your actions and not only to myself but to everyone around me. I regret them now, my defensive arguments and how I justified your actions as if I wanted to glorify my idea of you. Or the fact I accept you, flaws, and all. I didn’t accept you, I was ignorant of you.

 

I could say I didn’t know you very well but then that would be a lie because I know you. I sometimes think I know you better than you know yourself because I saw through you. I know deep inside you’re afraid of leaving your comfort zone. I know the secrets you keep behind your cocky exterior. I know the meaning behind every snarky comment you say because all in all you’re sad.

 

I also know you mean the opposite of half the things you say. You say you don’t want any drama, but I see you purposely balling your hands into fists and raising your voice. I see you purposely wanting an audience when you scream. I know anger; I’ve seen true anger issues and you my friend shouldn’t act as if you have one. You live for the attention despite saying you don’t. You try to act humble but you broadcast to the world how great you are.

 

Maybe I’m mad but you can’t blame me. You shut me out; you’re cutting me out of your life. This isn’t the first time either and it’s the same as the last time. We talk endlessly and then suddenly you stop talking to me. You can’t blame me for being bitter because all I’m asking is for a friend. A friend that I had for two years, a friend who was with me for the past few months and a friend who says he doesn’t cut people out of his life. But you’re cutting me.

 

I remembered that you said you missed me. I remembered that you said you’re happy I’m in your life. But you’re cutting me out of it. Not pushing, cutting. Because to push someone from away from your life takes effort. Cutting someone out of it is simple; you make it seem they don’t matter and break their heart.

 

Thank you. Thank you for making this easier. I thought I’d spend the next few months crying over you. But instead I see you, I finally see you for who you are.

 

You are human, you have flaws and you can be wrong. But if I start defending your actions and making excuses for you then there’s something wrong with me.

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