If ever I use the phrase “we need to talk“, trust that I’ll bring up a conversation to analyse something that never really started.
If I could tell you, I’d tell you…
I’m delaying coming back, not because I can’t, I can pretty much do what I want at this point, but because I’m awfully scared, of the future and my past.
With shaky hands, and tearful eyes I want to whisper to you to move on, and not wait in this perplexed unknown. I want you to find a ‘good girl’, not because of an I love you and want to set you free BS, but because of a different type of BS; one consumed by my inability to know what I want, and ability to fuck things up out of habit.
Sometimes I don’t care, but mostly I don’t want to put you through that mess.
If ever you know me, it’s good for me to see you with someone else, so then I’ll know. Or maybe it’s just best for you.
Either way I know I can’t, do, this.