I know I’m not supposed to talk about it - I’m not even supposed to think about it in case someone reads my mind but I can’t help it. Or maybe I don’t want to help it.
I’m still not sorry,
I still don’t regret it and even if I had a time machine, I wouldn’t undo what you did. In fact, I’d go back and make it happen again – how awful is that? I am the epitome of selfish. Somehow I think that only means that I’m the epitome of human so don’t judge me. I know you’re not judging me though, you’re judging yourself. You’re confused. You’re finding things out about yourself that you didn’t know were inside you in the first place. You’re lying to yourself, you’re pushing it all underneath the carpet, and you’re contradicting your beliefs but convincing yourself that you are remorseful. Are you really sorry? And if so, what are you sorry about? Everything? Or only some things?
I see so many unsaid words in your eyes when you talk to me. In fact, I see a lot of things when you talk to me, I just don’t understand what they are. I can’t read you all and I’m scared that if I try, I’ll get it completely wrong. So I look down at my feet…
...and you notice. I look away and you notice. I smile, and you notice. I frown and you notice. You notice when I’m in deep thought, when I’m daydreaming, when I’m being judgemental, when I’m angry, sad, ecstatic. You even pick up my most subtle glances. I used to think that I was deceptive when it came to my emotions but you see through me so easily, I might as well be made of glass, and that both scares me and intrigues me. And I have to ask myself, are you good at observing people in general, or are you just good at observing me?
...and you notice. I look away and you notice. I smile, and you notice. I frown and you notice. You notice when I’m in deep thought, when I’m daydreaming, when I’m being judgemental, when I’m angry, sad, ecstatic. You even pick up my most subtle glances. I used to think that I was deceptive when it came to my emotions but you see through me so easily, I might as well be made of glass, and that both scares me and intrigues me. And I have to ask myself, are you good at observing people in general, or are you just good at observing me?
You’re making my brain fuzzy. I’m incapable of using sophisticated vocabulary. What have you done to me? I can’t like you – there are so many reasons, too many reasons why I can’t like you. I disagree with so many of your opinions, and you’re so stubborn, so very stubborn. So many reasons but still, I want to be around you all the time. All the time. And when I’m around you, I feel like I can be myself, but at the same time, you make me watch myself. And I know it’s a cliché but it’s never been so true - you make me want to be a better person. You don’t make me want to change who I am, but you make me want to be the best version of myself I can be. Why do I feel like I do the opposite for you; I feel like I bring out the side of you that you detest the most. I wish you could see that it’s not a crime to be human, to truly be human. I wish you could practise what you preach. I wish that you could let go a little without drowning in guilt afterward.