They say timing has to do with everything. Who you meet, who end up with, who you fall out with. Years ago, I wasn’t even sure that I believed this notion – I always thought that our choices are what have a huge part in our lives. And really, are we going to blame timing for every single fucking thing? I’m not.

I won’t blame timing for you. I won’t fall into that trap. It might explain other situations, but not ours. It’s not timing. It’s you – and your choices. Tell me something, if you were really to choose between a person who truly wants and appreciates you and another, that doesn’t, who would you choose? What all our hearts hope for, is for someone who does appreciate us to come into our lives. Really, who doesn’t? If you have your act together, you’ll choose the first. Who would want to feel like they mean nothing in a relationship?

You. And don’t expect me to be kind, I won’t; I’ve had enough. You just walked into my life out of nowhere and god damn it, I felt something deep for you. For us, for what we could have been. Because you know what? It would have been great – there I said it.

Ι would have given you everything; literally. I would have always been there, by your side; anytime you needed me. I’d have listened to everything that you had to say; because it would have mattered to me. I would have made you laugh, which would have given you a crooked smile at the thought of me when we were apart.

I’d have cooked for you, and invited you home. We would have watched endless movies and TV shows. I’d have given you a massage, and then held you in my arms. I’d have laughed at every joke you made, and spoken to you for endless hours on the phone. I’d have looked at you like you gave meaning to my life, and would have kissed you to prove that you actually do.

I’d have stared at you while you drove and you’d have asked why I was looking at you like that; I’d have said that I couldn’t help it. I’d have held your hand, stroking it with my thumb. I would have bear-hugged you and said the sweetest “thank yous” anytime you’d have remembered to bring me chocolate because you would have known how much I love it.

And, by far, I’d have always made sure to let you know that I want you; every day, any day. I’d have wanted to show you how deviant and raunchy I am; and you’d never be more excited. But the one thing I’d have done every day is to kiss you softly and say “thank you” for being here with me, for even existing into my world.

Does she offer you all that? Does she feel grateful that she has you? Does she feel excited to see your name on her phone every time you text her or call her? Does she smile when she wakes up next to you, lying in your arms?

No – the bitch refuses to do any of the above; because she doesn’t appreciate you. She fails to see the treasure she’s got right there in front of her every minute of the day. Tell me, does it feel good when she says all those mean things to you? Do you feel loved, cherished? Again, I don’t think so. And no matter how much you tell yourself that she does love you, you know it’s not true.

You have to know, nothing can make me sadder than this- because you deserve everything in this world, and it hurts me that you can’t even see it with your own eyes. If I could just show you, how really beautiful you are inside-out, I’d do it without any doubt. I see it, and because I can’t show it to you, I can only tell you. I can only hope that one day you’ll see it for yourself and realize how much you are worth.

I won’t lie; I’m hurt and angry. Not only because things don’t rely on my desires and they aren’t entirely in my hands, but because deep down I know my hope that, one day you’ll be here, will never die or fade.

If it was in my hands, I’d make it a reality instantly. But I can’t decide for both of us; only for me. And what I know is that I’d choose you every day, without ever making you question my loyalty or making you feel like you’re just a second choice.

I’ll always hope. Because it’s not timing; it’s a choice.
Your choice.
And I hope that one day you’d make the right one.

Author: Victoria A. Dimou

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