He Loves Me Not

We're over. I'm fine with that. I accept that. Matter of fact, I'm a proponent for that. Our relationship was one big bang followed by a slow but steady decline. I know that you and I are better friends than lovers.

So when you asked me how my speed date went, I gave you the honest truth. I told you that the men looked at me like I had a contagious skin disease. I told you I wanted just one yes, even if it was from the really really boring guy, to prove that I'm not a boy-pariah. I admitted these things to you because those are the things I would tell a friend, but hide from a lover.

But your actions confuse me. The response you gave me was really great, but there was something dismissive about the remark you made towards my potential dates.

And then there's the blog-stalking. I told you I didn't want you reading my blog, but you searched for it and found it anyway. I knew that. I knew that before things were over. You used to log on about once every four days and only to read posts that pertained to you, but that has changed since the breakup. You check my blog every day from your home computer, work computer, school lap top, and, today, from your cell phone. Why are you giving me more attention now that we're over?

Why are you all of a sudden hanging on every word of mine? Are you just curious? Am I just that good of a writer? That funny?

Are you jealous?

Were you out with her when you checked my blog on your cell phone? (You know I hated it when you checked your football scores on your phone while you were out with me. We used to laugh about it.)

I don't blame you for it. I know you don't know about site trackers and how I can see everything. I don't think you would check it as often if you knew that.

But here's the thing: I come home from mediocre dates and log onto my computer to find out you've been at my site. Again. And, at the very least, you've been thinking about me. It confuses me. It makes me wonder what you're thinking about me, and why you're thinking about me.

It makes me miss you.

And these mediocre dates are only confirming that maybe I liked you a little more than I let on.

And I'm scared because I still keep your e-mails.

I cried to let you go; I didn't cry for you. I'm scared that if things keep going the way they are, one of these days you might win some tears of mine. And it is a strict policy of mine to never cry for a boy.

But you don't have access to this diary, so you'll never know that I'm thinking about you right now. And even though you think you know everything there is about me (and obviously you like it because you keep coming back), you'll never know about this place. You'll never have the whole truth.

That maybe I liked you a little more than I let on.

And I'm scared.