A fictionalized confession.
She thought I wanted a relationship. I wanted someone to want me.
We met through an online game. She was twenty-one; I was twenty-two. There were texts, voice messages, and photographs, but no live conversation face to face. When she asked me to be her partner, I said yes.
I was lonely and uncertain about what I wanted. That uncertainty did not stop me from making promises. When she said she loved me, I said it back. I liked hearing the words more than I cared about whether mine were true.
The messages became intimate. We exchanged private images. She was trusting me with something personal while I continued telling myself it was only online. The screen made the arrangement feel easier to step away from. It did not make her feelings less real.
Eventually, I asked for space for my mental health. I did need to think about what I was doing, but I also used the phrase to avoid saying that I did not want the relationship. I wanted an exit that would leave me looking considerate.
She said I was not being honest. I offered a weak apology and suggested we could remain friends. She blocked me.
I cried that night. I did not mistake that feeling for suddenly being in love. I was facing the harm I had kept making smaller in my own account of it.
I cannot ask her to help me feel better about what I did. Her refusal of contact is an answer I need to respect.
There is no redemptive ending here yet. There is the uncomfortable difference between wanting affection and being willing to treat the person offering it as fully real.
