I spent roughly two months lost in a delusion after returning to New York, searching for every shred of evidence to support what I wanted to believe about you and ignoring all the signs around me. I desperately wanted you to fill the loneliness inside me and be my partner. But I never gave reality a fair chance to sink in. It’s not someone else’s job to work through my issues—it was just an ideal I clung to.

Looking back, there was plenty of evidence that you weren’t truly available and didn’t see me the way I wanted you to. On your day off, we went to lunch, and you were an emotional storm. As I scrolled through your phone looking for an app, I noticed you had Grindr. My mind immediately flashed back to when you were in my apartment weeks earlier, helping me install a shower head. I’d asked if you were in a closed relationship, and you simply said, “Yes.”

How does someone in a monogamous relationship have Grindr on their phone? In that moment, a light bulb went on—I realized there was so much more to this story than I had allowed myself to see.

You even insulted me, commenting on the pitch of my voice, saying it woke you up and made you want to text me to “shut the fuck up.” Who says that to someone?

I forgave you because I thought you were just upset. I figured you’d pull yourself together to go out for a drink when I got off work. But instead, I got this:

“Eh babe, sorry but today I’m not really good. I’m going keep in bed. I’m sorry.”

Your broken English is one of the things I find sexy about you, but that message made me angry. What if I had needed you in that moment? You didn’t think about me—you never really thought about me. You only thought about me enough to make yourself feel better when you needed to because you were struggling. And that made me feel really fucking shitty.

Yes, it feels good when you rub my shoulder, hug me deeply, kiss my ear, or look into my eyes and talk about imagining a future together. But I’m starting to realize none of it actually meant anything to you.

Someone once warned me about Portuguese men: “They’re all talk and no action. Look out for that—they rarely follow through.”

Maybe those moments were just your way of coping with your own struggles—being friends with a toxic ex, or being in a long-distance relationship with a man who doesn’t work, lives with his parents, and is approaching his 30th birthday. If I were in your shoes, I might seek refuge in attractive and available men too. I feel used.

To you, I’m just an object you keep on a shelf in a room you only enter when you need something. You take me down, play with me, then put me back in my spot, walk out, and shut the door. My needs are never fully taken into account.

“I don’t even know if I’m in a relationship. We don’t talk for days, then we fight, and then we talk, and it’s good again.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”

“Not now. Later.”

That moment made me realize you were hiding so much from me. I remember when we walked to SoulCycle, and you offered to treat me to Cameron’s class. But all you did on the way there was send voice memos back and forth with your boyfriend across the pond. I couldn’t understand the Portuguese, but eventually, you told me about him—how he doesn’t work, lives with his parents, and frustrates you.

If that’s true, what are you holding onto? You live and work in New York—why stay in a relationship that doesn’t make you feel better? Can you not handle being alone? Are you co-dependent? Does clinging to him help you hold onto a past life you’re no longer part of?

Maybe he knows more about your abusive father than anyone else, so he feels like your safe haven. Maybe he’s your therapist. Or maybe, because he was there for you during cancer, you feel obligated to stay. I have so many questions.

Boyfriend aside, what drew you to me? Was it my warm, accepting nature? My authenticity? Did you see me as a protector because of my closeness with people at work?

I ask these questions knowing you’re not an evil person. I don’t think you set out to hurt me or make me yearn for you while knowing I could never truly have you. But who am I to know the truth? Sitting back and reflecting, I’m genuinely curious if you cared for me in the way you led me to believe.

I think back to our first heart-to-heart in M’s office. You told me you weren’t in a relationship—which is wild, considering I’d been told otherwise before I even met you. Later, you retracted that statement and said you were.

Am I confused, or are you?

From the beginning, you didn’t know who you were, what you wanted, or where you were headed. I chose to ignore that because your scent intoxicated me. Your beautiful blue eyes felt like home. I let my heart overtake my brain and saw only through rose-colored glasses. But this isn’t entirely my fault—you deceived me. You tricked me.

You have some blame here too, sir.