Confessions of a Situationship

I hit backspace. Getting rid of the text I’d planned to send to you at the thought that my name sitting on your notification bar would be an instant bother to what you have going on at that moment. I convinced myself that I didn’t really want anything anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if I never sent that text. I was only going to ask how you are… but the chance you wouldn’t respond felt immensely heavier than the possibility that you would respond since I just reached out to you a few weeks ago. I never thought it would matter after a year of getting close to you, but as schedules became tiresome and busyness became endless, it seems the distance has made itself familiar in the gap of what I call our companionship.

I often wonder to myself what I’m actually getting out of this. What need am I having you fill? And I tightrope on the line of wanting your attention or actually valuing your company. I think I hold unhealthy volumes of both since you feel so good to me. I’m grateful and blessed, but at the same time, I question if my intentions are as honest as I say so. I compare myself to the worst of my friendships and pray to God I’m not on the opposite end of karma towards you. But then, I often have to fight my insecurities about why I worry. You’ve never treated me like a burden. And I’m grateful for that. 
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But still…

I’ve never figured out how quite to be sure that I’m navigating our situation correctly. Like, is this even where I’m supposed to be right now? Is this thing even right for me? Immean… it feels like it. A majority of the time… but on the opposite end of my thoughts, it feels surreal. Like I’m playing a role in my own fantasy and waiting for the moment where I wake up to the reality that this thing was never meant to be and I am once again foolish for not seeing through the rose-colored lenses. It doesn’t matter that you treated me differently; hands down, better than I’d ever been…because from the moment I watch my heart come crashing down, I would be reminded that I fell short to the game again.

Like damn, girl.

You got played by the hustle.