I realize now, thank goodness for hindsight!, that I was never in love with Johnny. It was something close to it, but my heart never went thump thump. I made it go thump thump. I forced it to pump pump blood blood, but it never did it on its own accord. People are always surprised to find out that we lasted for two years. Honestly, it would have been much shorter if I hadn't been so lazy. I didn't love him, and I realized that before it even turned 2015. I entered the new year on the premise of a lie and I don't feel guilty about it. All I feel bad about is wasting so much time. I didn't end it sooner because I didn't want to think about the dividing of affairs, the conversations with friends, the arrangement of visitations to see the cats. I didn't want to think about sleeping alone. That was selfish. But I can't help it. Perhaps more than I ever loved him, I loved the idea that someone loved me. That was really selfish. But I'm tinged with greed and I gobbled up all I could and only when I was full did I remember that I wanted an entirely different kind of cuisine.
I didn't love him a bit. It was all a grand orchestrated mimic of what I assumed love was like. And when the deal wasn't held up on his end, the piece falling flat thanks to constantly cancelled plans and mentions of his mother, i lost interest in playing at all. Those two years are arguably some of the most depressed of my life. I grew stagnant and mosquitos laid their larvae in my open mouth.
But now it's over. Thank goodness. Finally, I can be happy, or some other close approximation.