I wish I could put to words the way you make me feel. It's a swirl of emotions that starts in my chest, tight and aching, and creeps to my stomach in a malignant spread of nausea. You hurt me in ways I shouldn't allow you to, because time after time I tell myself I won't leave myself open to you; I will shield my wounds and close my doors, raise up my guard and lose my vulnerability. It never happens and here I am (again) aching and fearful and angry and confused.
You never know because you never look. I wonder if you suspect sometimes, if you brush it off and dismiss it as me losing myself to emotions the way I do. It's all in my head, it's not a real problem, it's me pulling away and hurting myself: it's never you. I wonder if that's what you think or if you think about it at all.
The problem is that you never tried. Or that you at least try no longer. When you are there, it is only a matter of convenience. When it is no longer convenient, you are out of my reach. If I don't try to build the bridge over the gap between us, there would be no us. There is no us, not anymore, because I can't bear the weight of this bridge by myself. I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm angry, I'm sick and I'm hurt. I don't understand why you can't see (are you willfully blind?) or why you don't care or why you won't try.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I can't be patient and understanding and kind and proactive. I'm sorry I can't be in a friendship that is falling apart because I'm tired, so tired, of the way life is going. I'm not strong enough to pull through alone (was I ever?) and I wish that I were. Just once, I wish you would reach out to me and offer me support and show me that you're still there, that your presence is not contingent on my initiative, my efforts. That your friendship is not conditional on the fact that I make the overtures.
I've tried, I swear I have, but I don't think I can anymore because you - life - has worn me down. All I want to do is lie down instead of fight, and I am selfishly waiting for a hand to reach down to take mine, to lift me up.
I'm so afraid it won't be yours.
It probably won't be yours.
And I'm sorry (I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry) because it might not be fair, but if it's not you, then I can't be yours. This fraying friendship is no more. The ache and the unease and the bitter hope will fade. I will learn not to be disappointed anymore, because you stopped trying somewhere along the way - and now I will too.
Was I ever worth it?
The thing that hurts the most, the deepest, is that I see you try for others. But not for me.
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