I’m going to let this go. Because you had my heart for longer than I care to admit and you didn’t do much with it other than toy with occasionally for entertainment, kicking it around like a worn-out, but beloved hackeysack. And I pretended that was okay, because for a while okay was enough. And it’s like you knew exactly when I was going to fall apart because then you’d come with your soft touches and unique endearments. Like needle and thread they stitched me back together and now I’m starting to realize that it wasn’t so much about keeping me in one piece as it was not wanting to deal with cleaning up the mess.
I can accept that.
I can’t accept your hypothetical musings. I can’t deal with your months of silence and out of the blue declarations that always involve love and remorse. Because I’m different now. And though I will still need you in some way, I can’t hold out for you. Can’t pretend that one day you’ll come running back into my life, sweeping me off my feet and holding me closer, tighter than you ever have.
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