I fcked it up, finally.
I’ve caught myself being amazed countless times how after all this time, you’re still here. And I’m grateful. Although deep inside I knew someday I would mess this up. Because how can someone stay and love me, when we both know I can’t give anything back in return?
My walls don’t seem to get to you much, but this time I think I pierced a needle through you. And I’m really sorry. Asking how each other is doing is something we’ve always done, but somehow I managed to fck up the fundamentals of that, by questioning you on it.
Maybe it was my defense mechanism, for I can’t comprehend how someone can care so much about me, when I’m finding it increasingly difficult to even care for myself.
I questioned you on it because I thought you saw right through my pretence that all is well. I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m not.
Why wouldn’t I, tell my closest friend rn that I’m not fine? Because I don’t want him to feel helpless again. I don’t want to ruin that character in your mind of who I was, who I’m trying to find again. If I take away that person from your mind, it will only be harder to find her back.
