It’s hard. Because half the people I know don’t even know we were together.
So instead they tell me about how he tried to “finger-fuck” them under the table the first three times they hung out. Then tell me about dates I didn’t know about that seem to fall within times where we were supposed to be together and about how he left early with her on days when he was supposed to have been out at the bars until closing.
And they don’t know.
Except maybe they do. Maybe they know better than I did that I just wasn’t important anymore.
I was that comfort blanket that got all raggedy and this was excellent at home but not okay for everyone else to realize you still liked.
Like I said: if you pretend long enough, it stops being pretend.
But now I’m not sure what to do. Because I’m not sure that I want him back.
He’s way, way slimier than I ever realized.