The part of the whole “distancing/ignoring” thing about the end of my last relationship that still gets to me and pisses me off every time I think about it?
It’s not the fact that after seeing each other for 5 months, it’s apparently this easy for him to just drop it. It’s not the fact he stayed with me for four days right before the fact. It’s not that we slept together for three nights in a row, and I DISTINCTLY remember him pulling me over toward him after I fell asleep to lay my head on his lap and cuddle into him as he stayed up to watch more TV. It’s not the fact that he made me so. damn. happy. It’s the fact I cooked for him for three nights and he told me he’d use his newly-learned cooking skills to repay the favor right before he dropped off the face of my world.
I COOKED RISOTTO AND BACON, ONION, AND CHEDDAR STUFFED CHICKEN BREASTS FOR YOU, ASSHOLE. YOU JUST DON’T PEACE OUT ON A WOMAN AFTER THAT.
I mean, REALLY.