The Bite

November 30, 2012
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It pierced me. Like the way a mosquito bites a person—you don’t see or feel it, until it’s too late. We had just talked. Everything was fine, we were stronger than ever. I thought.

So, I go to bed thinking it’s all okay. At one in the morning, my duck ringtone quacks louder than ever. Seeing it was you, I picked up without thinking twice. Those words, “we need to talk”… It was already too late. The quack was the mosquito, my warning. Those words, they were the bite.

How could you do this to me? You led me on. You told me this would work. You didn’t respect me to wake me up. You didn’t respect me with what you said. You didn’t respect what I said. All I got from you—those stupid words— “I can’t”. I never want to hear them again. Ever.

I cried. You cried. Yet you still ended it. And then you said, “I still like you, you are still amazing, and you are still everything. But I still can’t.”
Why would you do this to me? String me along, while your life changes into the whirlwind of college, while I’m stuck here, trying to live through my senior year?

It could have been over before you left. Before you fed me lies. Now, I’m left heartbroken. No explanation, no closure. You tell me, “move on and get over it.” That bite was the hardest ever, leaving me with the worst itch.

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