“What’s with the back and forth?” I ask myself.

The failure to erase every trace is strongly intertwined with the conviction of wanting the person back. All of us, in admission — whether gladly or grudgingly — have played the role of the idiot in a relationship, or even in courtship.

I’m not one to subscribe to modern-day Gen Z idioms and slang like “ghosted,” “situationship,” or “friend zone,” or whatever else young people with broken hearts say nowadays. If it works, then it works. If it doesn’t, then it doesn’t. I get confused by adding a plethora of words to my already decent vocabulary for the sake of specificity. Or perhaps it’s because I’m just a moron. Whatever.

Allow me to be more open and transparent as I go along here. It started off alright — though I’m mincing my words in order not to seem desperate — but if I’m being honest, my use of the word “alright” is the understatement of the century. But yes, it started off alright.

A “good morning” from each other to set the tone; updates every few minutes or so; an exchange of selfies (though that was one-sided, because I’m not much of a looker); pictures of food and drink; the occasional “How was your day today?” and the ever-inducing “Have a good night” as we both hit the sack. This became the status quo for a few blissful months.

Then the tide slowly began to turn. The updates took longer than usual; the selfies dwindled in number; photos of food and drink felt unnecessary to send; and drifting off to bed without saying “good night” felt — well — called for.

I did everything within my power to remain in whatever it was that we had. On my end, I knew I was in love, despite my feelings being unrequited.

The motorcycle accident didn’t help either. I felt it was right for my presence to be felt even more when that happened to him. I knew it was the right thing to do, despite the distance between us. And for a month or so after the accident — yes — the spark came back, only to deepen the emotional grave I was already in and make saying goodbye, when the time came, that much more difficult.

I’m sure that by now, this seems and sounds like a typical year-long romance between two souls too young and dumb to even understand what on earth is going on, despite the pretense of maturity. But was it really a romance steered carefully, like a two-way street? Or was it just me all along?

Forgive me, but it’s exhausting to stoke the fire on your own. Forgive me, but tiptoeing around someone else’s insecurities and bad attitude in the name of love is a curse nobody should cast upon themselves. Forgive me, but being humane toward someone who doesn’t know how to reciprocate is begging for disappointment.

It was a love so deep, so profound, and so enlightening. Needless to say, it taught me a lot about myself and about life’s pitfalls.

It’s been five months since I said my goodbyes and apologized for why I had to. I thought I was strong, noble and resolute—armed with the conviction of my feelings — only to emerge battered, bruised and scarred, realizing that all I was was a clown and an entertainer too dumb to realize I had willingly played the role of the idiot.

And with that, I have since removed Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” from my Spotify playlist.