There was a time when our conversations mattered to me. I could long to talk to you for a whole day you and if you actually had texted me something it made the whole day seem worthwhile. It was just how you affected me. They meant something to me, your message. Even if you just asked how my day was. They made me happy. They made me forget everything they made me sad. You had that gift - to make me happy with the small things.
Was. That little world. Putting this happiness of mine in the past. Because something happened. You stopped texting me. You stopped acknowledging me. You stopped and I felt too weird to send you messages, after the first ten, I already sent that day. Ten messages. No answers. No questions.
One message a day became one message a week and later a message a month and then I stopped too. Except now and then I could send a text out of the blue just because but you never wrote back.
Until one day you did. Like you never stopped. Like nothing had happened. Like not a half a year had gone by. It was still easy talking, but I didn’t really care. You had taken something from me with that deafening silence of yours. You had locked me out, to suddenly open the door once more and inviting me in, in from the cold. But you see, I had found peace within. I didn’t need your warmth or your kindness. I didn’t need you anymore.
Our conversations in the night didn’t matter anymore. They don’t matter anymore. I moved on. I moved on with my life.
I’m sorry. But you fucked this up. Not me. I cared for our conversations and I cared for you. But no more. You kind of killed that feeling. Killed it with the silence. I can’t do this. That would be counterproductive.
Goodbye and have a good life. One advice though, if you don’t care to cultivate your friendship with people, don’t bother. It’s a two-way thing, you know. But, I suppose you didn’t even consider me a friend, did you now?
— @celtic-poetry , Burned one too many times by cold shoulders