I often think of you. Whether or not you know it, I’m fully aware of it, when you pass by me in the hallway. You probably think I’m ignoring you or… Maybe you think I’m a hypocrite. All those times we talked about things other than our biology homework or how that one girl you used to love suddenly admitted her feelings to you now that you and I are together, you probably think that I was never fully taking part of the conversation. I did. Yet I wish I hadn’t.

Often enough I wish I had said no. I remember, before that day, I had admitted to myself several times that I’d forget my feelings for you. For some reason, when you brought it up again, the emotions were still raw, exposed. I hadn’t hid them away; I hadn’t disposed of them yet. If you had waited one more day, maybe two, I probably would have still said yes.

I am a hypocrite. We told ourselves that relationships were never something to be forgotten or regretted. I said that because I never really knew what it was like. You said it because you are just that kind of person, soft-spoken, faithful… awkward. Maybe that’s what I never factored in. I always told you—I always told myself that if we ever did part, we wouldn’t be awkward. I never actually considered that you were awkward anyway. Our conversations, even when we were together, never passed greetings such as “How are you?” and “That’s good.” I’m not the type to be content with those kinds of conversations.

I feel like a , to be quite honest. I look down on hypocrites, but I am nothing more than one myself. When I’d tell my close friends the reason why I wanted it to stop, they’d tell me “But why? You guys are so cute together!” My response would always be and still is “He’s emotionally suffocating me.” One can only describe such a statement in so many ways. I described it as, “When I say ‘I love you,’ I want you to remember when I do. He says it so many times that it doesn’t even phase me anymore.” And even to that, they still think it’s sweet maybe because they hadn’t yet experienced it.

It was like being on a carousel. The colors, the rush, it’s all so wonderful until the third time around. The motion gets to you, and the colors become dull. Before you realize it, your head is spinning and you just can’t wait for the ride to end. I ended the ride out of my own decision. He might have said he was okay with it, but I couldn’t tell. His eyes were always the type to never have emotion. I hate those kinds of eyes. I need emotion. I need feeling.

That was the first time I’d ever really appreciated being alone.

The new conversations, although with different vocabulary, remind me of him. I wish they wouldn’t. One can only go around in circles so many times before collapsing. It’s not that I’m not ready. I just don’t want the same thing to happen again.

Sometimes, I fall asleep and wake up thinking of him. A simple conversation with him, a hug, a kiss, it all floods back to me. Yet when my eyes crack open, I mentally shut myself down, wishing for it all to disappear from my mind. I never fell in love with him. I fell in love with the concept of perfection that would make my parents happy. I lived up to expectations and forced myself to fall in love. But now that someone else is showing me my own definition of perfection, what am I supposed to think? This carousel won’t last forever.