He was always so sweet to me. He always had something nice to say, always there to make me smile when I was so angry. I gave him hope outside the world he was trapped in.
How did I repay such kindness, such sweetness?
I ran.
I left him in an unfamiliar bar in an unfamiliar town and I ran away.
No explanation. No apology. I just ran.
Don't ask me why I did it. It seemed like the best option at the time.
I sat there, making an effort at conversation, and I realized what I had done. I had led this guy to believe there was something more than friendship between us. I had let him drive hundreds of miles to see me when I didn't want to spend a moment with him. I saw the reality of what I had done and what kind of person that made me.
When you come face to face with the reality of who you really are, you either accept it, go mad or run away. And I ran.
I still haven't spoken to him since. He sends me messages now and then, asking for forgiveness for a crime he didn't commit.
He doesn't understand what kind of person I am. He holds me to this standard I cannot reach, that I have no desire of ever reaching. Maybe he's naive. Maybe I let him be naive. Maybe I let him think I am that person because she's a better person than I can ever hope to be.
I'd like to think I'm a good person, that I'm kind to others and try to think of others before myself. I'd like to think I can attack my problems head-on, talking through them like an adult. But just because I'd like to think this way doesn't make it true.
I'm no good
and given the opportunity,
I will run.
Love you.
Mean it.
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