It does not matter whether I’m somewhere on my way back to New York from Boston or in a darkened, unlit cinema watching Step Up 3. Each time I feel lonely, deprived of love and attention, your face will be the face I see. Your face will be the first and only face I see whenever my vision gets blurry and my emotions conquer me. It's not like I secretly wish to love you forever. It's not like I secretly wish for you to call me and say sorry. It's not like I secretly wish to have you lean on my shoulder again. It's not like I secretly wish for you to come back. I don't secretly wish for anything, particularly anything that has something to do with you. I hate it when I feel like I'm fated to be this crazy over you.
They call me delusional, you call me crazy, I call myself hopeless. It does not matter if new people come and break the walls in me. In the end, I will compare you and them. You are the angel of my heart, the heart breaker I will always adore, and the book I thought wasn't written with a sequel. I can not escape from you despite how many miles are there between us. You got me ensnared in this hideous mental snake pit. You locked me here without telling me this deliberate torture would be forever. I am unable to seek for help, unable to see any lights, and unable to set myself free. You caught me here for some uncertain reason you would never explain. I am in misery, and missing you like crazy.
You changed me a lot. I tried my best finding my soul, my interests, and my real colors after you and I stopped talking to each other. Who knows all my changes only led me back to you. Your expectations on me were too high. They were unreachable, placed somewhere in some other invisible galaxy. I failed to meet them, again.
Wait a minute, give me a break. What the hell am I doing writing all this? I only want to write something simple, something that can tell all in one wisely structured sentence. This is nothing like what I wanted to write. Nothing.
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