So maybe you've just grown tired, of my apologies, of me telling you I'll always do better next time. But you pretty know there are things that just could not fit right in your hands, right? Like lines that you force to go straight when they never could. They were born curves, I told you. But still, you believed in the possibility. Which in turn made me believe, too. And that's the exact point why I can't get over hating myself for disappointing you.
I can't say that freaking word because I know you might not believe me anymore. That word, that five-letter word you say when you unintentionally step on someone else's new white shoes, or accidentally break someone else's young, fragile heart for the first time. As much as I'd like to deny, I could feel something has changed between us, with the things that are usually just there and the you who was just usually yourself. But I'm giving this thought a benefit of the doubt by assuming two things: one, I'm just paranoid, and two, you're just busy. Busy enough to push me aside for the moment.
Oh yes, I'm big enough, to know what's right from wrong, and to know why and how things could have probably been right or wrong. "Probably." Because they are measured. You love numbers. I hate them. I hate measurements. I hate standards. I'm a scofflaw. And maybe that's why this line you envisioned could never really go straight. I am not them. If you could please stop thinking like everybody does.
I begged you to just quit, but still you go. And you remind me of that guy Eddie Vedder's singing about in "Off He Goes". I could offend you a thousand times over, you get tired, but you still believe. That's why I can't quit, too. Not just yet. Yes, maybe things have changed. But don't worry, I can go on like this. A simple "hello" will do, or perhaps a one-question one-answer type of numbered conversation. Enough to show people nothing happened. It hurts, but I know I caused this state in the first place. And it's actually better this way. I told you not to expect anything from me. I will just do it. But still, if the lines won't go straight, at least I once had this beautiful memory.
It's raining. I gotta go. #
and the best way to end/continue things is to smile with a smile that doesn't show.
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