Monday, March 28, 2016
from some sides
You ask me what I’m not telling you for the second time because my face looks like it’s hiding something from you. I don’t know why I keep saying,
If this were a year ago you’d have stopped questioning, whether you believed me or not, assuming you believed me, assuming you didn’t care to take notice when I said something I mean or when I didn’t.
Now you won’t let up and you won’t let me wallow and you won’t let me silently hate you or me if that’s what you think I think I’m doing. I should be grateful that you notice my subtleties now, that you inquire past surface level, that you don’t let me get away with the idea of performing perfect or unbothered or both.
But I guess I am holding on to that a bit so I won’t be held accountable to explain my feelings. To name them.
The only thing I want to say right now is,
Sometimes I don’t think you really love me.
Even though that’s ludicrous. I don’t want to say that to you now because I know how untrue that statement really is. I just want to hear you say