I thought I was okay.
Turns out I wasn’t. I’ve told myself I’ve gotten over you, and your stupid John Tucker-ish tendencies on women, but I haven’t.
You were gorgeous. You’d call me every single night to sing me songs and ask me out the morning after. You’d tell me stories of you and your mishaps, your imperfection. You’d take care of me every single time I’d end up too drunk to recognize you or the ice cream you’ve been trying to shove in my mouth.
It all seemed too perfect, but it wasn’t.
It was because I thought I’d be able to change you that I went through with it. It was because I thought you’d change if I asked you to, because you felt the same way. Sadly, your John Tucker power was stronger than I anticipated. It was much too powerful that I thought it’d be better if I stopped reciprocating to you, because from the start, I knew I was holding on to false hopes.
And now I’m wallowing in self-pity (kind of) because I let you go. It was stupid because you were gorgeous, and you were nice, and you were more than I could ask for. I had you, and now what? I just had to let go every friggin’ single time.
Plus, you recently got into this advertisement/commercial without substance. Too bad I wasn’t granted much of bragging rights as your supposedly-girl for a span of time.
-
On a happier note:
I love you. No boy could ever replace you, not even that kid I was talking about. Too bad you won’t get to see this, though. But still, I love you. Even if you get more and more unreasonable every year, and we end up arguing over the oddest things. And oh, for being able to pick me up in the most dire and unexpected of times. Your version of Air Supply renditions will never get old. Again, I love you. Happy Birthday, Dad. :)




