I opened up to you and you still chose to run. I fought my demon’s for you, faced my fears, let myself believe but it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.
And now you’re running, because this time round there’s no game to win, to prize to steal. It’s just me, and the reality of me is far less exciting than the character I’ve learnt to portray so relentlessly. I fucked up by letting you in, I fucked up by starting to fall… and I fucked up by showing it.
Thinking anyone could love a version of me that didn’t pose a challenge was my first mistake. Thinking anyway could love me at all was probably my second. So you take your time, and you work out what you want while I rebuild the walls you so prematurely knocked down. I can assure you they won’t be so easily breached a second time round.
And yes it hurts… way more than I anticipated. But I guess I was naive to think you were different just because you played the part more convincingly… I guess I should have known it was only a matter of time before all in became half out when all in appeared so suddenly.
Fuck, it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. You weren’t supposed to make me cry.
Smudgelove 