i will wait for no one. and certainly not for your pleasure as you deliberate over whether i am worthy of you. or perhaps people with single-minded purpose such as myself shouldn’t mix with those who have dual intentions, who vacillate from decisions committed to whenever it is convenient. if anything, your forced “altruism” was a disservice to the fact that I, at the very least, considered you a truly warm friend indeed. and i’m still unsure as to why you felt obligated to say what you did; whatever entrapments you feared never existed. there was no race for the bars to close in over your head, nothing you had to prove to me, anymore than i had to prove in return. to simply read me would have been sufficient.. after all, I have always strived to be unfettered and free of ambiguity - and as such your over-analysis was both unnecessary and unwarranted.
still you have - time and time again - continued to assume the worst of me. though i’d like to think we have long since transcended shallow acquaintance, it’s all for naught; anything you’ve learned is summarily discarded upon finding that the pieces don’t fit neatly into your preconceived notions of me. because i am so much more than what you’ve declared the sum of my parts, of the tidy little boxes you and others have been obstinately sectioning me into, and because i know to leave my character undefined would be nothing short of unsettling to you. you are not the first to draw conjecture from flimsy assumptions floating around mid-air, and you will not be the last to misjudge me so grievously; therefore i should hardly feel the sting of offense.
sheathing your decision under some bizarre guise of consequentialism to lessen the blow, and blaming fate for your lack of effort was (however artful in its elegance), laughable. hadn’t I warned you once that no one is truly special on this earth, of the perils of illusory infatuation, that love is merely a sequence of decisions and mishaps we make, a strength of fortitude? and yet it was you who deigned to treat me like some lovelorn child, to be handled with kid gloves. if painting me as the fool salves your conscience… then so be it. i pity you more for it.
sincerity is the only violence i’ve craved all my life. the soft endings others yearn of are not for me; I of all people should know best they don’t exist. and i would like to think that for all my abiding earnestness, i deserve better than your condescension.
but things go awry, as always.
and life moves on.