I was sorting though some old papers tonight when I found it: that little slip of paper you wrote your email on the weekend we met. I came up and asked for your address, but you already had it written down. You were already planning on giving it to me.
I didn't know I still had it, so it came as a bit of a shock. I had finally gotten you out of my head for the time being, and there it was... a stark reminder that you were at least as interested as I was, if not more. I mean come on, the first time you emailed me, you listed all the things we did together as the high point of your weekend.
I liked spending time with you after that. We'd go for long walks, talk for hours, and enjoy each other's company. And your eyes when you smiled at me... wow. But, we realized that we were moving too fast. We didn't know each other very well, and we both wanted to back away a little and just get to know each other slowly.
Maybe I misunderstood what you said you wanted, or maybe you just didn't know. Either way, you came to the conclusion that you were not interested in pursuing anything further. I respect you for the way you told me. Consistent with who you are, you were kind and thoughtful, but clear.
I was not heartbroken. I didn't cry, not that day, anyway. I was, however, terribly disappointed. I just don't know what changed between the few weeks after we met and the day you told me you just didn't feel the same way about me.
That slip of paper was an unexpected reminder of how excited I was about what might have happened with you and I. It caught me off guard, and that's when the tears came.
Shoot, I really liked you.