before you even try to cry and tell me that you will reject my words even before they are released from my lips, please do not.
look in my eyes and tell me that this is not the right thing to do.
look at my exhausted eyes and, for once, emancipate your system of your glamourised perception of me, and see me, or at least try to, as i really am.
or better yet, see us as we really are.
yes, i like you. but like is not love. and love will never be like. we exist in our world together. but this existence has the foreboding of an abrupt rupture – or of gradual departure; the latter worse than the former.
i look at your hands firmly locked in mine, and i see you smile, but is this all there is to it?
right at the onset, i have told you of my misgivings, my shortcomings, my paranoia, my brokenness. you have seen me stripped of that facade: you saw me at my worst.
thank you for trying. believe me, i mean it when i say that.
but ever since my vulnerability has taught me that things are not always as they seem, and that i am better off making sure my self-respect is kept intact, so must i guard my sanity from leaving me. i need to sift through what is genuine in the long run, and liberate myself from the deception of short-term bliss.
i want to love you, believe me i do.
it’s just that. love. is. never. always. easy. and. loving. me. is. never. easy.
i look at you now, and i only see a shadow of who you used to be. in my mind.
i look at your eyes, and my heart instinctively closes itself because it sees what my mind chooses not to see.
i firmly intertwine my fingers with yours, but it does not stay long, because its clairvoyance is almost always certain: it prepares my fragile hands to pick up my broken pieces after our inevitable demise; it readies my heart for mourning.
and thank you for making me believe that i can be loved.