It Didn't Work Out, But I Don't Remember Why

You posted those pictures just to frustrate me, didn't you? 

Oh, you definitely got my attention, you smug little prick. Look at you posing on the beach all sun-kissed and happy to be alive. Ugh, you're giving me diarrhea. And this picture right here. The one of you in a speedo and a flat-bill. You're just walking the line between angel-faced teacup chihuahua and smoldering sex god, aren't you? You just want me to lick my iPhone screen, don't you? And you knew I'd see all these photos from your family vacation in Galveston and I'd feel flustered and uncomfortable. All because I broke-up with you in a text message.

Sure, it might have felt completely unexpected to you. But I gave it some serious thought, bro. And, to be honest, I think I was very nice about the whole thing. If you recall, my exact words were: 

"Hey. I didn't want to end things without an explanation, so I'm going to be direct with you. I don't know if now is a good time for us to keep this up. If you want to try again in a few months, I'd be willing to reassess our relationship. Take care."

See? I could've said something less considerate. Or worse: I could've just bailed without saying anything at all! And it's not like I owed you anything, buster. We only talked for two months and had sortasex one time. But now, you're prancing around my Instagram with red cheeks, windswept hair, and a body that stops me in my tracks every time. And once I see you, I have to follow the curves of your traps and trace the insides of your thighs with my eyes. I should be working, but instead, I'm studying the color of your nipples and the shadow pattern on your crotch. God, you're beautiful. But you're distracting me, and that's not very mature of you.

Now, I don't really know where you're coming from, and it's impossible for me to gauge your level of investment in this ploy to make me lose my cool, but you seem committed, and I'm impressed by that. I guess that's another item I can add to the list of things I like(d) about you. I'll pencil it in between "the way he smiles" and "his ability to do a backflip." It's not like any of this matters anymore, though. You're trying to get a rise out of me, but it's not happening, chief. Uh-uh. Not happening. Tough nuggets.

So what if I save the all pictures you upload? Each one is an opportunity for me to rally outrage from John and Nick with photo captions like, "Are you fucking kidding me with those forearms!?" or "God almighty, he's burning the house down with that ass!" Oh, but don't mistake this for flattery, Mr. Photogenic Dick Shaft. But this is what you want, isn't it? You want me to break down and send you the "sup?" text. 

That's the subtext, right?

Alright, fine! I'll admit it. I don't remember exactly why things didn't work out between us. I think it had something to do with you not being into me enough. I don't know. You were always getting high after work and forgetting to text me. And sometimes, I wouldn't hear from you until late in the afternoon the next day. That sucked, man. Because I really liked you, and I gave you another chance every time you asked for one. I broke it off with you because you made me feel crummy. And no one deserves to feel crummy or get heavy boots in the beginning of a relationship. But now, looking at these pictures of you, I keep thinking, "It couldn't have been that bad, right?" and "Maybe I was being overly sensitive." And now a nagging piece of me feels like I missed out on something.

When I was 20 years old, my boyfriend got drunk and hit me in the face — giving me a black eye. We broke-up, but a few weeks later, I let him back into my apartment and I had sex with him for two reasons:

1. He was [and remains] the most attractive person I've ever seen.
2. I romanticized our relationship and intentionally blacked out the bad parts.

And on a lesser scale, that's what this feels like, buster. I "forget why it didn't work out" to justify wanting the good parts of you (see: red cheeks, windswept hair, smile, forearms, backflips, etc.). It's my way of passively giving you the benefit of the doubt. So enjoy it while it lasts, stud. I have a date with an LSU grad student tonight, and I can't spend another minute imagining myself doing body shots off your immaculate torso.

But if you wanted to send me something private, I wouldn't be angry.