I only wanted to love you and you treated me like the enemy.
I knew you had your demons and I was ready to stand beside you and help you fight them. I respected the suffering you had to face as if it was sacred, because it was unknown to me. I respected you for standing tall after all of it. That’s why I forgave you over and over again. But you always gave me for granted and you thought I would never be able to stay without you. Oh, my love, I am. I’m just unable to erase the thought of you and the discomfort at the idea that I will never see you again. That’s why I rejoice at those moments before going to sleep, when the memories inebriate me and I pretend you’re with me. How bad is it when I wake up and realise that there’s half a continent between us.
The thing is: I was right. Everyone knows I was. You, deep down, know I was. That’s why you disappeared instead of offering me the last opportunity to clarify our differences. And now you are abroad. Gone without a trace. I can’t contact you. We were always two foreigners, but now we are also two strangers.
It hurts, but… but this carrousel never stops, my love. It can go round and round, but around it, the season pass, the landscape changes, the people take one, two, fifty tours but they go and leave their seat to others.
I love you against all logic, and I suspect I will always go. But I love myself more. And I will have to love others who will love me back.
Please allow me to.