I still think about you. Six years together isn’t something that can just be set aside. I am sometimes so happy for you that I am vicariously delirious, and sometimes worried that my leaving left you to move too fast the next time. I hope this is exactly what you want. I am unutterably proud that you and I can be the kind of friends we always were now that friends is all we are. I will always care about you, and I will always think of you
I still think about you. It was just a weekend. Just a weekend, and several months of messages back and forth, detailing everything about our lives. Just a weekend, and messages, and a connection I hadn’t ever felt before. Just a weekend, and some messages, and a connection, and the memory of your skin. Just a weekend, and messages, and connection, and memories, and a little bit of myself left behind when you moved on before I did. It was just a weekend, but I still think about you, and I think I always will.
I still think about you. It was never love, and never would be. Just a few weeks, and some obvious problems from the first date. We couldn’t be what the other needed. But I knew you were troubled from the moment I saw you, and I knew that you’d never be still. You’re married now, and still troubled, and I think it won’t last. I knew you were no good for me, so I ended it, but sometimes I feel selfish because of it. I worry about you, and I wish you would return my calls, and I still think of you.
I still think about you most of all. Everyone knows why. I wish we’d had more time.
I still think about you. We were probably incompatible, and certainly too far away to try to figure it out. I had a great time with you, but you definitely got to see the bad side of me sooner than I’d have liked. That’s all right, though, it’s all part of me, and if those times when I am generous don’t make up for those times when I am petty then it could never work. I do care about you, though, and I still think about you, and I hope your life goes well.
I still think about you. That’s mostly out of puzzlement. I’m still not sure whether you were ever attracted to me, or what it is that you felt I should do. I know that I did something that you didn’t care for, but I suspect that I’ll never know what it was. I’m not upset, just confused, and that sometimes makes me think of you.
I still think about you. One date, and then back to your ex, but I still think about you. Having met him, knowing what he’s like, I can’t decide if I’m more relieved that you don’t like me or insulted that you’d go back to someone like that. I wish you well, though, and every once in a while I’ll still think about you.
I still think about you. Just as a friend, I promise. Maybe if circumstances were different, and maybe if I didn’t see the way that you looked at him, but I have no illusions, and less desire to put myself in a place to be hurt again in the way that I have been hurt before. In other circumstances, I think we could be good, but it’s not to be. That’s fine. It won’t stop me from thinking about you.