Being who I am
when I no longer care, I can do nothing to even act like I do.
No longer caring is not something that describes my feelings of you.
Eye level no longer being met. Hello's and goodbye's don't have the same twinkle and specialty.
Facing you doesn't scare me.
Facing me should scare you, though.
For someone who is known as the nice girl, I can destroy people.
Anger is not my forte and violence is not something I wrestle with.
Hatred is not in my emotional spectrum.
Giving the time and energy to dislike someone is time and energy that don't deserve from me.
Sadly, though, the choice to not care is not something I do consciously all the time.

All the doors to my world were open, signs on the walls to tell you where to go, and refreshments to the left.
You gave me the wrong direction to your house, made me search for the key when I finally found the way and still the keys didn't work for everything like you said they would.
Don't get me wrong, closed doors don't offend me. The fact you told me none of them would be locked is what hurt.
The floor was uneven, causing me to stumble and the feeling I wasn't wanted or allowed was as present as the confusion of what was what and what was where.

I changed my locks and added new doors. I returned the keys and forgot the address.
There's a picture in a frame on the wall of the hallway with your face next to mine, smiling at the camera.

The memory remaining, but the choice made.