The One That Got Away

23:09 >> I know you blocked me. Not just here, and not just my phone number, but also Instagram, Snapchat, and the email addresses I used to try to talk to you.

I understand. You probably don't want to hear from me. I get it—loud and clear. But I hope you'll hear me out, and once you have, I hope you'll understand, too.

This isn't me begging for forgiveness. It's not me asking for another chance. It's me being vulnerable. And honestly? That's what really matters. Maybe I should have done that years ago. Maybe we both should have.

Remember you told me to go to therapy? Well, I saw a post from a therapist on here and he said something that really landed: bottling things up is bad for you.

The truth is I have been bottling things up. Since the day we went our separate ways, I haven't had any way to tell you all this. It's getting to a point I think I might explode if I don't tell you how I feel.

I miss you.

There. That's it. It's that simple, and that hard.

I miss you. So much.

I think of you often, and I check online again, to see if maybe you've unblocked me. It's been four years, and sometimes I think you've forgotten me. But I don't think so.

I remember the way you used to light up when you saw me when we first got together. Do you remember that? You can't just switch off that kind of emotion. You don't just forget people who have that effect on you.

Maybe it's just who you are. Maybe some other guy is lucky enough to see that smile, now, when he picks you up from work, or walks in the door. That hurts so much I can hardly bear it.

I miss our little in jokes. The warmth of you in our bed. Your cooking. How gorgeous you looked whenever we went on a night out together. The "just because" presents you'd get for me. I think I miss those most.

Other couples would get each other something for anniversaries or Valentine's Day or because they expect something in return. But you got me things because it's Tuesday, and I never got you a gift like that. Not even once. But you still did it.

You always knew the most perfect, obscure thing. I thought you could read minds, you were so good at it, and then if I thought really hard, I'd remember mentioning something days before.

Now I realise: you could do that so well, not because you read minds but because you paid attention. You cared. The result? I knew you were thinking about me. I loved that. You read my mind to tell me I was on your mind. And honestly? That's a superpower. It's you superpower. And I miss it.

Are you ready to send this draft to Jennie? I can change the tone to be warmer or more poetic—just say the word.

>>delivered

>>read

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10:24 >> sorry who is this

Thank you, as ever, for reading!

Disclaimer: I wrote this in the style of SlopGPT. Rest assured, it is me! I've just seen more posts on social media with the Stink on them than I ever wanted to, so I done my best to mimic/mock/satirise those. How did I do?

The story behind the story:

This has been brewing for a few days. First, I saw a poem about a woman buying a baby shower gift (a storybook), and writing a message in it before it was wrapped. Specifically, using AI to compose that message.

Then I saw a post from a woman whose child died several years ago. If the post wasn't written by AI, I'll eat my socks. This usage is intensely dehumanising, and I have nothing but contempt for it.

Third, several people (specifically women) discussing the phenomenon where a partner (usually they are discussing men here, but I can think of a few women who are probably the same) can't tell you what they like about you, only what you can do for them.

I saw a screenshot on social media of a man doing exactly this - using an alt account to send a "heartfelt" message to his ex. Which was, of course, all about what she used to do for him, and had nothing really specific to her in it at all. I'm not confident he did use AI, but I wouldn't bet my house he didn't either.

Thank you again!