“How does it feel? Losing your head over a few words?” He asks simply, sipping his cup of tea, looking at the city lights from up above. I have nothing to say. He is right. I have lost my head. Over a couple of words. Yes. I am mad. Stark Crazy. But I do not want to defend myself.
He doesn’t look at me. I have never really interested him much. Or that’s what I believe. Or maybe that’s what he wants me to believe. Only he knows. I am a bit scared though. His nearness is like a dream. Almost fragile. The proximity is breathtakingly painful. I sip another mouthful of warm coffee. And it gushes into my blood. Warm to my insides. I do not know what to attribute the warmth to. Is it him? Or the coffee? Like always I’m confused. Things are not as complicated as they seem. And yet when I really try to look at him, it is all veneers of emotions. He is happy in being sad. And I’m happy in his happiness. Or Sadness.
Sometimes I feel that he looks for her face in mine. And at that moment, I begin to loathe myself. He likes to be left alone. Mostly. And so there are long silences. Ones that speak softly to me on windy nights.
Sometimes when the alcohol churns in my stomach, I hold myself for him. He drives me. Runs through me like poison in my veins. He smiles from the clouds. His laugh rings in the flowing tap water. He grins to me through the tikcing hands of the clock. But he never loves me. Just witnesses me in my darkest moments and makes fun.
He is all that I’ve wanted. And I turn myself over to him every day and every night.
He stands to mock… but he never loves me. He Doesn’t Love Me.
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