The time I was wrong

So recently, I got served.

No, not court documents. I got served *breakfast.

The philosopher was right when he said

"Last Last, na everybody go chop breakfast"

And now it's my turn.

I never thought I'd get served breakfast, or more appropriately as someone here, T, put it; have it "shoved down" my throat.

"And this thing about being served breakfast. I don’t think anyone who’s eaten breakfast has willingly done so. You’re not served breakfast, it’s shoved down your throat in a way that it chokes you and you have to cry to feel better."

I never thought that'd be me. And it's not because I was arrogant.
Or maybe I was.
But I saw things differently. Those who got served, for the most part, either didn't see all the red flags because their love was blind or just weren't willing to put in the work a relationship needed.

I was neither of those people. My love wasn't blind. It saw clearly, yet it chose her. Despite her shortcomings, because that's what love does. It covers a multitude of wrongs.
And I was also willing to put in the work because I'd chosen her deliberately. I wasn't just going to let all that go. And of course, love never gives up.

So I didn't think that could be me.
Until it was.

And on her side, I'd chosen someone who was emotionally intelligent. So if I ever did something wrong, I could count on her to bring it to my attention so I could make amends. And if at any time she was no longer interested, she would tell me and not leave me to spend nights trying to find the meaning behind her words.
She would always be clear. That's who she was. She was the closest thing to perfect.

But I was wrong. Again.

It turns out, she would not be clear. At least not when I needed her to be.
She would constantly leave me second-guessing her intentions. To the point, I almost became desperate for her affection.

Breadcrumbing.

There's a term for what she was doing to me. I stumbled on it one day while scrolling Twitter, and imagine my shock to find out what she was doing was straight out of the breadcrumbing manual.

But that couldn't be her. She would never do that.
Again, if there was any issue she would communicate, remember? She was emotionally intelligent. Not manipulative.

But it turns out that's what she'd been doing this whole time. After repeatedly asking her to clarify her intentions and not leave me guessing, she casually mentions that she’s no longer interested, and has moved on.

There was no warning sign, no heads up. Amid the pain, there was one consolation, at least she was finally clear. At least now I knew for sure how she felt. After all these months, she was finally coming clean.

I was wrong about her.

The aches in my chest are a constant reminder of that fact.

But do I regret anything that I did?
No. I loved fully and deeply, as love ought to be. Anything short of that isn't love. And I have no regrets about having loved. I only wish it was a person more deserving.

So I would do this again. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic.
Or maybe I never learn.

In case you’re wondering what breakfast means, it’s a Nigerian slang referring to heartbreak.