I’ve been led on. I’m not sad, just disappointed. I asked you if you felt the same and, no, you didn’t, but that’s okay. I understand.

But I thought you were more than that. That I’d know why, at least.

I always thought you were someone with depth. That we could talk to each other, really. Until I actually tried having a deep conversation with you, and you just laughed and called it “weird.”

How could I not see you? What had put a filter over my eyes? It is not you, my dear (I always wanted to call you that). I’m sorry to say, it was just me.

I used to like you, had you in my dreams again and again. Later, I found out who’s in yours. Someone else: more lovely, with beach waves, and thousand messages in her phone. I’d call her a Barbie, but it would be unfair to her. It’s not her fault you think of her instead of me.

I don’t know if I’ll see you in my dreams once more. I don’t sleep enough as it is; perhaps I was irritable, and that’s why? Or maybe because of my past, or that I’m not really like you—I thought we were, but we’re not. You’re the sun, I’m the moon. She’s the sun, too.

No, I won’t see you in my dreams once more. Not like before. I’ll miss that, but, ah, well. C’est la vie.

I don’t know why I wrote this. No, I do. We never get time alone. I could never tell you all this. I hope you know you haven’t broken my heart. You were curt, yet honest; truly, I appreciate that. You’ve praised me a thousand times, but I can praise myself.

I hope you’re doing well. I know I am.