I suppose the reason why I still can’t let go of you a hundred percent is because I never really saw how it would end. I mean, I predicted how it ended (and believe me, forecasting is pretty easy when it comes to matters of me), but I always believed that I would be proven wrong. I never asked for the world from you, nor have you given it to me. And believe me, if you would come knocking on my door, begging for forgiveness, I would want to slam the door in your face.
But I would like to admit that I’d still want you to, anyway. I’d have dreams where your car is parked in front of my building, and you’d be there with a sorry face and words of pity — “I was afraid” or “I wanted to keep my distance because you have fallen too hard, quite close to me.” I know it was easy for you to detach yourself from me, I get that, because you have chosen the path of unfeeling, a feeling equated close to death, where you could care less for the hurt you have caused others. We (I am, after all, a part of this) have become numbers to you, and while there is a secret brilliance to integers, it’s the greatest insult you could have given me (even if I refuse to confess such) and to all the others you have hurt. Some have come rapping desperately at your door, and others chose to sit idly by and try to be as apathetic as you are.
I am not writing this to beg for your love in return because God knows I wouldn’t want you back in my life, despite my own heart twinge in pain as the words come flowing. It would only cause a whole cycle of it over again, and this time, I can read between your lies (or truths you couldn’t make truth?). This is a piece I have to cope with for my own sake, as I try to become uncaring towards you (and I have already done so), because I never knew if the words you said meant anything to you as they had to me. You already knew how I love the power of words, and yet you maltreated them as if they were air.
Actions may speak louder than words, but it doesn’t mean words can’t speak for themselves too. Or else, how can we even begin the act of speech without the letters strung together?
You told me never to leave your side, and I didn’t. But why did you?