I doubt you would recognize yourself, reading this, and perhaps you would not expect it, if you did.
Honesty was, personally, never an issue. However insecurities often clouded your envies. And you held back from them, you’d learned desires were the fruit of pain. And pain you were fatigued to endure in silence.
You felt alone, you feel alone, I now feel alone.
I approached you, roughly, I would say. Craving to hear your passionate opinions, your emotions, whatever you felt safe to say. I felt safe too, because you wouldn’t offer that to anyone. When you spoke, I was yours.
Safe was nice for a little while, safe was tender, sweet, euphoric. I wanted to hear you speak. Your voice was slow, kind, melodious. I remember the first time I heard you speak, I remember being… mesmerized.
I remember gasping a little, and thinking : “Is that really you?”
Moreover, I was impressed, charmed. This was risky, you thought it would weaken our bond, mess our quick start. Perfection was an aspect of yourself you wanted to attain for me.
It occurs to me that you were more insecure than usual around me. You thought I would not like you now that I could hear your voice. You.
I wanted to compliment you, be expressive, show all of what I was undergoing whilst you spoke restlessly. All I did was listen to you for ten hours straight.
Ten hours that I sat, being my hyperactive self, cocking my head towards the screen, and listening attentively.
For once I felt like I was really listening to someone and not waiting for my turn to speak. I teared up a bit when finally we hung up.
Things after that, just got unsafe and unsafer, and then you took me aback by telling me you were just as into me as I was into you. This you I knew so insecure, could also be brave.
I felt sick the entire day. I was all upside down and spread in tiny places, stretched and confused.
I did. I wish it would have been different.
Then you got busy, you got caught up in life and slowly I took less importance and I was upset.
When I’m upset I get selfish, so I just reciprocated your actions. A part of me wanted to make you feel my miserable ache, the other part wanted to become numb, detached, so I couldn’t grief over something I barely had.
I got detached, and then I tried to reach to you again.
I suspect you’re still upset now too.
I suspect you’ll always be upset and that we won’t be having any more unsafe moments.
And to compliment my first reaction, I believe : ’ I deserved it. ‘
