I can’t keep grasping at straws for me to become part of your life anymore because I honestly don’t know how much of it I still can be. There’s wrongness at every corner threatening to jump out at me. I know nothing about you anymore, you know nothing about me, and we don’t capture a single inch to save the distance. Do you know? Everyday is another 24 hours for us to become strangers. Do you know? You’re becoming just another stranger to me.
And I’m terribly sorry if I’m yet again at the verge of giving up and I can’t be strong enough for the both of us. I’m terribly sorry that I don’t seem to want to reckon your words anymore, that their glistening eyes are much better to see you, to really see you. I’m terribly sorry that I don’t deserve even the least part of your thoughts because I don’t try, I never try, and you deserve so much better.
We can live in the achingly utopian notion that somehow we can fix this but we have to leave the falsehood that what we can do lies in our hands. It only lies in mine. The fault is all mine. And I don’t know what to do.
I’m terribly sorry that I don’t know what to do anymore.
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