They tell me to move on. They say you never really cared, but they didn’t see the ways your eyes would light up while in conversation with me and the way you would hold me, gently, and the way you would kiss my forehead, when you thought I was sleeping. Sure, maybe you didn’t quite comprehend just how infatuated with you I was, but you still cared. Maybe that’s why I’m so hung up on you, maybe it’s because just for a second I was confident that you were it for me, that I was done playing these games of do they like me or not, that this, with you, was my forever. And yes, clearly I was wrong, but that’s kind of a hard fact to face, to come to terms with. Maybe that’s why I’m still holding out hope that you will come to terms with the mistake you made in letting me go, that you will actually see it as a mistake and come back and say, “It was you, it just scared the hell out of me and even though it still does, I’m willing to give it a shot.” The chances are slim, but there’s still that sliver of hope, and I will hold on to that for as long as I need to keep my sanity.