I keep on asking myself “what is wrong with me?” I always feel restless, incomplete, a puzzle almost complete with its picture but missing a piece. I know no one would ever fully understand anyone, but why do I feel like I know myself too much to the extent that I know any moment from now I’ll trip. I’ll mess it all up.
A day after I turned 22, I messed it up with us. It didn’t come out of a blue, we both knew it was coming. I couldn’t stop it, God knows I tried. I tried stopping it, and just tried to be oblivious to the idea that it’s not working out. Sometimes, I believe that, but today I guess I tried but refused somewhere in the line. I was constantly bothered by not being worried about how I’d make you feel. I was constantly hating your every story, impatiently waiting for the day to end so I can tell you I have to sleep ahead of you. From the beginning, I was never scared that you might do something that would hurt me too much. I trusted you, too much that I didn’t have anything left to trust myself. I expected it, I was waiting for me to fail – BIG TIME.
You are my home. You kept me warm after a long day of talking to cold hearts. We go places only you and I could imagine. You tuck me in every single night on that imaginary bunk bed of ours, wrapped with comfy. You take my weights very lightly, and I take yours as I mine.

-not finished-