look what you’ve done.

i don’t know why i’m holding on.

as to what i’m holding on to, it’s just about every little thing.

the little things count so much, we all understand that.

sometimes, i get an overwhelmingly big piece of the cake; grand gestures they call ‘em. sometimes.

but the little things do it.

i unfortunately pay too much attention to the littlest detail. too much for my own good, i feel.

i just can’t figure out why i keep replaying those little things over and over in my head, why i give to them so much value, why i can’t get enough of them, why i hold on.

oh, universe, make up your mind.

I lie down on the bed and get into the most comfortable position I know.

And then, I start thinking. And waiting.

I know I have to go to sleep because I usually have to get up early.

But I can’t.

I feel that when I finally close my eyes and drift off, I’d be raising my flag and acknowledging that my day had ended.

And it breaks my heart every night to realize that a whole day had just gone by without me seeing you or talking to you, and that a whole day had gone by without you having thought about me.

I still hurt.

Forgive me, but I cannot see you, for my sake.

“That poem was beautiful.”

I was writing about you.

i miss you. seriously.

really.

I find it so easy to hate you.

But I don’t.

You break my heart like it’s what you’ve been raised to do. :’(

“Anything more?” you ask.
Anything more?

How, how, how, do I cope
knowing too well that
I cannot hope.

“What more do you want?”

I really don’t like it when you ask me that.

Out loud, you’ve asked me twice. Impliedly, you’ve asked me countless times.

I squirm in my seat. I hug the pillow tighter. I walk out the door. I can’t breathe. I can’t look you in the eye.

I don’t like it.

No, not because I don’t have a reply, but because I precisely know the answer.

Every single time you ask, you shove the truth right to my face.

Every single time you ask, the answer lumbers through my mind. I violently push it aside for some silly quip like “possession” or “exclusivity.”

The nervous laughter kills me.

I don’t know if you’ll ever understand that what we have now means so much more to me than it will ever mean to you.

But you ask me that anyway, like I take everything happening for granted, like I don’t recognize it for what it is.

“What do you want that we do not have?”

Feeling this strong about someone eats you. It keeps you awake at night. It makes you feel almost too powerful.

Feeling this strong about someone is one thing.

But it’s an entirely different - overwhelmingly beautiful, spiritual, numinous, cosmic even - thing to be able to share  that strength, that power, with someone, by having that person feel the same way.

THAT I don’t have.

And the idea that I can’t ever have that with you is that which I struggle against every time I’m with you - hell, every time I think of you.
____

“he could even be the guy you’d make sure gets the things you think would make him happy, knowing and not minding that you’re not one of them.”

“Liars begin by imposing upon others, but end deceiving themselves.”

Sometime ago, but not too long ago, it was but a sneaking suspicion.

Today, I might have just gotten hold of evidence. 

But of course, according to you, none of it could be possibly true.

Ah, well.

Until YOU bring it up, I might as well dismiss this.