Sometimes, a sense of sudden guilt hits me for leaving some people behind, cutting others off or slamming the door at them.
I repeat to myself that it was my fault. That it was wrong. That it happened due to my complete emotional incompetence— my total inability to keep people close and take care of relationships.
But then I remember.
I remember how, despite having my share of responsibility—and yes, maybe I could've done things better—, I am no clown in anyone's circus.
I am not here to entertain neither to put on a big perfect personalized shows for anybody.
I am no secondary character. I am not here to laugh at all your jokes, support you senselessly and appear only when it suits you so you can develop as a main character in your cinematic scene.
And I am no national geographic doc. I cannot be explaining myself constantly, nor give endless context about myself, my life or my state. Anyone who has ever had to overexpress themselves or staid in relationships where people didn't accept/respect what didn't understand—and didn't make the slightest effort to— knows how painful, exhausting AND UNFAIR it is.
No. The pain I may have caused by leaving without giving an explanation; the suffering due to uncertainty and the forced distance, can't be excused. I'm even aware that it may have hurt more than expected, because I see myself so replaceable that I can't really know how "important" I am in anyone's life.
Maybe there was a way of ending things better for both of us. But that's the thing: I stopped thinking and taking care for both of us.
I didn't move.
But neither did you.
And as for those I kicked the fuck out: couldn't care less. You're dead. Stay dead.
