It hurts.

Like only broken hearts do. It f***ing hurts.

Is it my ego that cries out "I told you so?".
Is it my mind that refuses to accept that the end has come?
Is it my fear of starting it all over again?

What have I done to you? What more than to love you with all my heart? What more than to give you all the freedom you wanted and wait for you to come to me, when you're ready? What less than to show you all my world, my fears, and all my love?

I just gave you too many choices, and I let you practice your freedom on me. I believed in you. I believed you can stop juggling, one day. I trusted your mind to put boundaries to its fears and settle down. I hoped your heart would speak louder.

I was wrong. And now it hurts. Broken promises. Dreams for sale. Wasted love. Spilled hope.

And you, quiet. Silent. In your own world, content to be alone. You, focused on whatever else than this unstable shaky troublesome love. Yes, you can live without it. Why bother? It adds nothing to what you already have. It wastes your time and your money and your energy. Makes you think. And dream. And fear. Makes you vulnerable. Makes you unsettled. Makes you want more.

Indeed. Better not. Later, when you'll be ready. Later, when you'll be fat and bored of watching cheap porn on TV. Later, when your daily life will need some excitement. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to tickle your imagination and get you hard. Maybe even give you one extra heart beat. Later, when you'll be secure enough to know the next one is just the same, and there's a lot more you can buy.

But still, one day ... at least one day, or night, or morning ... one day, when you'll be finally sober and able to look in a honest mirror... you'll finally understand that "why?" is so much more important than "why not?". And then you'll cry. And miss me. But I'll be dead. And so would be most of those that had truly loved you.