I'm not mad at you,
I promise.
Don't get me wrong,
I tried so hard to be.
I wanted to be mad at you,
for how everything has played out in the last few months,
but I just can't bring myself to do it.
I love you,
and that just doesn't work.
I miss everything about what used to be,
even the sort of "is this a thing" element,
the mystery became its own little twist.
Each moment treasured,
praying for time to slow down,
come to a screeching halt,
stand perfectly still.
Where everything else
faded out and I finally could
live in the moment.
But I was afraid,
so I did all in my power to push you away,
only to realize too late how much it meant,
finally admitting and coming clean,
only for none of that to matter anymore.
And over the last six weeks,
we've become strangers.
I'll admit I'm not a big fan of that,
but in my heart I genuinely feel that its best,
because the last time we talked and hung out,
only resulted with me going to far,
in pursuit of that previous happiness in a vulnerable time.
Do you remember the last thing you said to me,
after that incident?
That I made you feel uncomfortable.
I refuse to do that again,
because of how I feel about you.
I creaked the door back open,
half-heartedly saying that if you needed anything or wanted to talk,
I could do that.
Only to experience radio silence and glances across the cafeteria.
So maybe,
somewhere inside
you think that this is best,
and I wouldn't blame you for that.
Don't you think you did anything wrong,
because that's simply untrue.
This is just the only way I can protect you
from the monster I've become.