I hate the game.
The game of pretending not to care when you really, really do. Why is it that we feel compelled to hide the truth. We are so utterly terrified of the truth, of exposure, of vulnerability. Instead we pretend we are impenetrable, we hide ourselves behind hobbies and the things we like and we deny that anyone may have broken down a wall, or touched us in any way, because that means they have gained the power to hurt us. I am terrified that if I let you know, I might lose the slimmest chance I've got. But is passively watching that light of hope flicker and burn out much better? No. Really, it's torture. I want you to know that I care, just not how much. But I don't want to lose the game. But I don't even want to play the game. I'm arguing with myself. I wish I could get out of my own head. I wish I could break out of this prison.
If I do this now, I'll regret it later. But If I don't do anything now, I'll regret it later. I don't know I don't know I don't know.
I tried to suppress your presence in my conscience. Instead you appeared in my dreams. A shadow of you, or who I thought you to be. Last night you told me what it was that drove you off. You said it was because there were too many superiority issues. Everything done was done to impress, and you didn't want that. I don't know where it came from, this wasn't a thought of mine (I don't think, but of course, I could be wrong). I don't want to give it any heed at all. Half of me wants to forget that you ever happened. And the other half wishes it wasn't over. Where is the middle ground?