I could have been good for you, if you had let me. In a different world, a different time, maybe a different set of circumstances. I could have been what you needed. Wanted, even. We could have been happy. Content in our lives, enjoying each other’s company. I know we could have been good for each other.
But somehow I wasn’t good enough for you, in ways I’m sure I will never be told. Rather than be honest with me, you chose to cut me out of your life at the drop of a hat, leaving me forever wondering what grave error I committed to deserve such treatment. You didn’t have the decency to tell me a damn thing, and somehow I feel like that’s my fault. Like I didn’t deserve the truth in the first place.
