I have collected enough of your empty promises to know that you could only provide a sense of intimacy while retaining your distance. But I promised myself to be true, moving on by acknowledging the truth. Moving on by being honest, setting the truth free to the world, all the while asking your kindness by supporting me to move on.
I deserve a certain degree of respect for being able to admitting the truth, for asking a kind of help that people do not usually ask. But you won't give me any of that. You prefer seeing me confused and helpless, all the while not letting me either apart from or close to you.
Post Admission: Day I
Insanity. You won't let me draw the line. You carried out, expertly I might add, a performance which I fooled myself into thinking this is real. But the only thing that's real, out of the whole act and performance, was your solid presence; neither your words nor your acts were real.
Post Admission: Week III
I envy my three-weeks-ago self. She was happy for having your solid presence in her life, even if it was only for less than twelve hours. But in retrospect, I won't let you play me like you would with your games. You cannot win when I am not playing at all, sweetie.