Today you told me you might leave. I think the main reason I messaged you is because I wanted to know the status quo. Of course with you no decision is final and an idea may never be realised. You're like that, uncertain, unsure. Of course, this changes nothing. You're no closer to me here than in Sri lanka. Why am I still so hung up on you? I don't like you, I don't talk to you and, the way you are now, I am not driven to you or attracted to you (I think... I don't see you, so hard to tell). I most definitely don't love you. I'm hurt, because you tore you out of my life as if you were never part of it. I am so angry at you, for so much! For lighting up my life and then disappearing. For appearing again and slowly and steadily tearing my trust apart. For resurrecting as a 12 year old and showing me how much you don't care. For wanting me. For being the happiest around me. For contradicting yourself. For never trying. For making me think of excuses, of reasons to blame you. For using you as a token for everything I regrettably don't have, when I really have so much more! For associating with my breathing space, my freedom. When I know I've been a lot more trapped with you on my mind. I hate so much about us. I hate holding onto this as the best thing that has ever happened to me, as in reality the best thing is that it ended. You are so much of what I admire, I try to convince myself that my respect for you is gone. For now I love you. A mechanism I use to protect myself of what is real. I love you- the ideal, the idea I build in my head piece for piece, phrase for phrase. Nothing. An ideal that won't let me be, because an ideal can never impose on your free time, your interests, your priorities and plans.
