I barely even knew you when I really think about it. I knew the part of your life you shared with me, but even that was slim. I knew the little things you told me about yourself, your favorite movie, your favorite band, your favorite Mexican restaurant, but the other stuff, I never really knew.

I barely even knew you, yet every time my friends and I catch up, you somehow come up in conversation. Every time I think about my first year in the city, I remember that god damn couch you helped me build when I first moved in. My dog pissed on that couch, it’s like he was trying to rid away the scent of you, mark his territory with something new. That couch was left by a dumpster not too long ago, throwing it away was somewhat therapeutic. I hated that couch ever since you left.

I barely even knew you, yet every time I walk by that lame sports bar where we met, the one with an absurdly long cocktail menu and way too many TV screens, I silently cringe. I hate when anyone suggests we go there, not because I associate it with you, but because that place just sucks in general. It’s like we were meant to meet in the worst sports bar known to man kind. Now that I think about it, there was a blizzard that night. I should’ve just stayed in. That was the omen that warned me, you’re going to get hurt.

I barely even knew you, so why is every memory of you and I together stained with regret? Why can’t I just completely forget you? How the hell do you find your way back in? I wish I were more like those little ant traps you stick around the house. The ants flock in only to find that what they’re attracted to is poison, and then they take that poison back to where they came from, their colony, and they never come back again. That’s really morbid, but I really do wish I could just forget you ever happened.

I barely even knew you, so you really shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t do a double-take every time someone who looks like you sits across from me on the train. I shouldn’t be worrying about what will happen if I run into you when I visit a part of the city I know you frequent. Your existence shouldn’t concern me, but for some reason I just really don’t like being reminded that you and I were once a thing.

I barely even knew you so when I remember you, I shouldn’t be so sour. I’m not one to harbor negative feelings, but I think if there’s any negativity within me most of it is harbored towards you. And that’s the thing, I know I shouldn’t care, because you came into my life and left pretty quickly, but the way you left still hurt.

And the question I ask myself a lot is, if I barely even knew you, why did it hurt so badly when you left? That’s why I don’t like remembering you, because every time I think of you, I think of how you hurt me.

But regardless of how quickly you left, or how much time we spent together, or whether your leaving was bad enough to be considered ‘heartbreak,’ I’m glad you taught me what love isn’t. Because it helped me find what it is, and it’s nothing you ever gave me. Even though it hurt, your leaving led the way to love.