I didn’t ask you for more.
That’s what makes this so fucked up.
I didn’t ask for commitment.
I didn’t ask for consistency.
I didn’t ask you to change your life, your patterns, or yourself.
All I asked, without ever saying it out loud, was that you not treat me like something you could reach for without warning, without effort, without respect.
And you did it anyway.
You showed up like my time was optional.
Like my availability was assumed.
Like I was something you could tap on the shoulder last minute and expect to respond the way I always had.
No space. No notice. No consideration.
Just you, deciding in real time that I should be ready for you.
And that’s what makes it insulting.
Not the timing. The entitlement.
The entitlement to think that because I’ve been here before, because I didn’t walk away the first, second, or tenth time… that you could keep giving less and less and still get the same access.
You didn’t reach out to connect. You reached out to see if the door was still unlocked.
To see if I’d answer fast. To see if I’d accommodate. To see if I was still the same version of me who would bend without question.
& when I finally said something,  not dramatic… not cruel, you played like youre fucking stupid.
“What’s that?”
That wasn’t confusion. That was deflection.
That was you tossing the responsibility back at me like I owed you an explanation for reacting to your behavior.
As if you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. As if this hadn’t been building. As if this wasn’t the same pattern you’ve been repeating for over a year.
You didn’t forget how to show respect.
You just stopped bothering.
And I let it slide longer than I should have, because familiarity has a way of blurring lines that should’ve been sharp from the start.
But here’s the truth you don’t get to dodge:
The longer someone stays, the more you think you can get away with.
And you did.
You got comfortable giving crumbs.
Comfortable being inconsistent.
Comfortable assuming I’d always be there,  receptive, patient, available; no matter how little you gave back.
Until you crossed a line so casually you didn’t even notice it. And that’s what made it worse.
Because it wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t explosive. It was small, dismissive, careless.
Which means this wasn’t a mistake. It was a habit. What you did was disrespectful.
And what’s going to feel even more disrespectful to you is what comes next.
Not anger. Not a fight. Not a final speech.
Just the absence you didn’t think you’d earn.