Francesco Hayez, 1859.
I considered you as a spark of spontaneity derived from intoxication at first sight. Nothing more, nothing less. It was no strings attached, whimsical gesture that was completely out of my character. I needed to, it was you.
Somehow we still ended up getting intertwined and attached.
It began, not without its bumps, but for a little while, it seemed like we were doing more than just fine. I started to weave you into my life, and I believe you did so, too.
All of a sudden, you were more than just someone new. I gravitated towards you after learning some of your likes, dislikes, and even the flaws you tried to hide.
I introduced you to some of the unseen, damaged parts of mine. They were obscure and unreachable to everyone else, but dear, I felt comfortable enough to display each and every one of them to you at that time.
Now I’m not certain as to why.
If crying is a sign of weakness, then I’ve been defeated by you more than countless times. The only consolation that I can rely on is that you will probably never know the whens and whys.
Perhaps it is pride. Perhaps it is dignity. Perhaps it is because I know you could care less.
I’m not sure how you could walk away so easily.
I can quit anything, but I’m not quite sure whether or not I’ll be able to quit you.