How cruel it feels even inside my own head to wish you would just move past it already. Like Iβm the villain for wanting things to feel normal again but then you speak to me the way you do. Careless, hidden behind jokes that never land the way you think they do. You laugh it off and I donβt. Iβve told you I donβt more than once but itβs like my words dissolve before they ever reach you. Every night ends the same. Me laying there with this painful heaviness pressing into my chest wondering when exactly it changed. When you stopped feeling anything for me. If you ever did at all. Or maybe this is your way of handling things if you even realise youβre doing it. Is that what coping looks like? Turning someone who loves you into something small? Something easy to dismiss? I donβt know what I am to you anymore. Iβm supposed to be your lover but you donβt hold me like one. You donβt speak to me like one. Itβs more like Iβve been reduced to something less, like Iβm just there for you to pick at, to mock, to push as if Iβm some joke that never ends and still somehow you expect me to stay. And I do. Because thereβs still this stubborn hope in me that refuses to die, that maybe underneath all of this you feel something. That the moments we shared werenβt nothing, that they meant something real to you too but that hope is starting to fade now. Itβs not as steady as it used to be. Is this is what I deserve? Maybe this is just everything circling back to me. Karma, in its own slow suffocating way. For trying again. For believing I could have something good after everything I messed up before. I give you everything I know how to give. Care, attention, love that bends itself into whatever shape you need and still, nothing shifts. Nothing softens. It always comes back to me doing something wrong or saying the wrong thing or being too much or not enough or just not right. Like Iβm constantly one step behind too slow to catch myself before I ruin things again. This time I didnβt even mean to. Sometimes I tell you I love you and it just gets brushed off. Other times you answer but it feels distant like something forced. Youβre trying to convince yourself more than me and I canβt shake the feeling that youβre forcing it and that loving me is something you endure not something you want. You never wanted me. None of this was real. Iβm stuck here trying to imagine how Iβm supposed to keep moving forward when everything feels like itβs already ended. Iβm standing in something thatβs already gone. What life even is there to go back to?
