Rarely do I let myself feel vulnerable, as raw as a wound, fresh on my knee, crimson gushing out uncontrollably. Meeting you is the best worst idea, if that makes sense.
I envy you for how you feel towards me. It’s unadulterated, and so complete in in itself, minus all doubts. And look at me, I’m a mess, living in delusions trying to convince myself that everything will be okay, and that everyone’s happiness is under my control. You are right, I assume YOUR life revolves around me. That I have the power to make you or break you with my answers.
What has this come to? Years of memories and walks down the same street, drinking filter coffee, laughing and bitching over the silliest things, tears and arguments have now given way to analysis, over-thinking, facades, conscious choice of words, and doubts of having overstepped boundaries.And guilt. The guilt of having said too much. All of this coupled with the fact that you will indeed be leaving soon, and time is on your side.
I’m assuming it will be easier to move on, given the new surroundings, new people, new streets, maybe someone who could replace me. My chest hurts while I type this. I tried to give you my best, but I can’t give you everything. There’s no room for blame. But you got to give it to me for being your best confidante ever.
And there’s no substitute when it comes to you.
It’s funny how this feels like a breakup. Maybe, it’s all lost.