You told me I talked too fast, but that’s because I was trying to fit everything in before you got bored. My eyes danced while yours spun away and told me they’d be right back, and it was that sliver of hope that made me stay. I stretched it as far as I could, moving as little as possible in case you came back sooner than I expected.
Sometimes after you’d leave, I’d catch you dancing with another crowd. Whether you knew I was watching, hesitating and holding myself back from following you, mattered to me back then. I wasn’t sure if you’d come back, but you eventually did when the dance floor cleared and I was the only one who’d answer your call.
Now, I dance circles around you. I dance around everyone like you, bending and folding myself the same way I did to fit wherever you needed me. Going out of my way to do anything for you, even when I knew you wouldn’t do the same for me.
I let this go on for too long. I mistook feeling unfulfilled after hanging out with you as a sign that I didn’t try hard enough. I could’ve probed you farther when you said that everything was okay. I didn’t interject when I should’ve, which was my fault. I wanted to fit in months of conversation into a few hours, but you didn’t let me. Once it was over, I had to wait in line for your time all over again.
When I see you later, stumble into you and exchange niceties, and you ask me who this is about, I won’t tell you it’s about you. It’s about you and everyone you go through before you get to me, the one who waited for you at the very end of the line. This is about you because it could never be just about me, it always had to be you.