FRAGMENTED

I am okay. My life is okay. I function well.

Function.

Because at the end of the day, when all else has gone past asleep, I lay awake. I stare at the ceiling. I remember you. And I cry. I think of you and those brief moments we've shared over the phone. I think of every line you sent my way. How they pierce through my heart, leave me bleeding and barely breathing. Love potion.

Did you really see me? Want me? Love me? Did you really mean when you said you care for me and that I mean so much to you? How much do you really feel for me?

Even if you offered to elaborate on it, I would not let you, lest I'd believe you and I end up disillusioned.

But right now, am I not disillusioned already? It's the silence that's killing me. It's making me feel so betrayed. Even if yes, you told me it doesn't mean you care less. But can I help it? Didn't you make things possible from the start, no matter what? Then again, I am not even asking for so much. I am not in the position to ask for anything. All I want is for you to stick around.

It's complicated, I know. That's why I choose to write to myself, than tell you these things that drive me nuts. I can't understand myself. You won't understand me.