I'm awake,the first thing I see
is the white ceiling above me
cracking and ready to crash me
down
down
and down.
I can't remember when exactly. It happened in such a smooth way. I could barely have noticed until I saw myself picturing us together, more and more often, everyday. By then I realized I felt something. Strong. For you.
Why? Why you? Was it the way you laughed? Or how you made me laugh at your witty outbreaks? The difference or the sum of it did matter a lot to me. It was helplessly annoying to decipher the reason behind.
It could have been the way you made us feel comfortable with each other. I didn't have to pretend whom I wasn't. And you didn't have to wear any make up or act like a complete doll at my presence. You were special because you could be stupidly silly making it unbelievable for a woman your age acting like a moron every once in a while. But at times you were too mature and responsible, talking and questioning about certain things most people don't. Yes, it hurt talking to you, but in a funny way. And that made me constantly smile because you were just like that. Easy to talk to. Pleasant to deal with. Even though you never missed a chance to show your sarcasm.
Silence. Your mind and heart could easily be absent. You allow yourself to shut up and be a total boredom when you are distracted, shy or simply unwilling to pronounce anything. Different from others, indifferent from what they made up about you. I was addicted. Addicted. Addicted to you.
My addiction never faded away. I was and still am an addict. Who said I wanted to be treated?
But I still don't know what you wanted from me. I tried to see beneath your smile and your naive looks. But nothing. I couldn't read. I was too into you or you were too good preventing people from reading you, only the things you didn't mind them to know. Yes, you were unfair. You made people tell you everything, yet you tell them things you think aren't that important but driving them to think you'd told some sort of secret, only the closest and intimate ones would have the luck to share with you. You did it so well. But the things you told me were not necessarily told to anyone else. See how tricky you were?
And now what? This whole thing is boring. Tiring. Ridiculous. And unimportant now. Is it really?
Now I'm telling you it's not the first heart that you break and you won't be the last beautiful girl. But I can't help it. So just talk to me again if you are out there. Please.
