“I guess you didn’t care, and I guess I liked that.”

Taylor Swift can really speak the truth sometimes. Because I seem to always put so much energy into relationships with people who don’t care about me or about anything. And I’m usually aware of it on some level. I always know that these people are not overly concerned and a little self-involved. I always know that they won’t text me “good morning” or buy me flowers. I always know that they won’t care about what I’m doing or who I’m with.

And I guess I like that.

I’m not the romantic type. I like my space. I like my work. I don’t want constant text messages or compliments because it doesn’t seem genuine to me and frankly, it just annoys me. Sorry (not sorry), it’s who I am. I don’t want flowers because I can’t keep them alive for more than about five seconds. I don’t want people to constantly question me about my whereabouts because I am my own person.

I’m independent and an introvert, so I never like people who I think will constantly be around. And in result, I surround myself with people who are just never around. I make excuses for them. I convince myself that one day it will be different. I play back their positive characteristics in my head. I fall into the trap all over again.

I’m also the queen of trying to rekindle old flames. I can’t just let go without giving people numerous chances to be the people I want them to be. I know that people aren’t perfect, but at the same time, I sometimes give them too much credit. Some people are never going to care. And I’m starting to realize that there’s nothing to like about that.

It’s one thing to be passionate about something and not center your life on relationships. It’s something completely different to not treat people well because you only care about what directly impacts you. I always hang onto people who do the latter and it fills my life with so much negative energy. I keep rekindling fires that really only ever existed in my mind.

The fire was there, sure. The connection was there. But I created it on my own. I built the fire and kept it burning with possibility. With little moments. With faint sparks.

I firmly believe that you have to try, rather than simply wonder, “what if…” so I keep tossing wood into a fire that kept flickering inconsistently, back and forth, over and over again. Because I couldn’t give up on it.

Throughout all of these negative relationships, I was always my own source of light. I could convince myself that other people kept it burning, but really, they only weakened the fire I had already built on my own.

I tried. But now I know.

You don’t care. And I can’t change that. I can’t add more wood to the fire to reveal that you’re simply misunderstood. No. You’re not worth the trouble.

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