Dear Best Fit,
I adore you. You're smart and you're funny and we fit quite nicely. As I pantomimed domesticity with you, I waited for that rush of endorphins that might one day give me the courage to tell you, it's you, it'll always be you, and I don't want anyone but you. But instead, I wanted to go home.
You see, all those feelings that flooded my heart inexplicably disappeared. Nothing has changed between us and I started getting the feeling that nothing will change. I thought I didn't care if I was the one that felt too much, but as so many times before this, whatever opened itself snapped back shut again. I carefully retreated behind my wall of bravado, telling myself there are plenty of boys who would want to sit across from me at a dinner table---you are no different. I don't know how I found myself at your gym, in your apartment, when I only call you "friend." I'm just not that kind of girl.
I tried to make the butterflies come back, but I can't. I suspect the truth is I'm terrified, terrified that you didn't ask me to do these things and yet I did, of my own volition. I didn't recognize myself and that scares me. So you won't be hearing from me for awhile.
I'm sorry, it's not you. It's me.
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