Of maybes and mismatches

 

[DISCLAIMER: DO NOT read this if you are not in the mood for something depressing and if you are not in to read about how I am pathetically wallowing in my self-induced misery. Apologies in advance; it has been the toughest few weeks with exam preparations and exams itself, and it didn’t help that I had to battle with supressing my (stupid) emotions too. MEH.]

 
 

It’s been a while now, 30 weeks since I last saw you in person.

 

I know that I shouldn’t, and I know that it only makes me feel worse.

 

But, I miss you. I miss having you as one of the closest people to me in my life. I miss you so much that it actually hurts.

 

I would not tell you, because I know how the cards will be played: you’d look down and press your lips into a thin line, take in a deep breathe and a soft sigh follows. And through your eyes hidden behind your framed glasses, you’d give me the familiar “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you” look for the nth time.

 

I would not tell you because it will change nothing and it really isn’t worth the try. In fact, I have stopped trying altogether. I got tired of being the one who tells you things but to only hear my voice in conversations. I got tired of having to explain why my wayward emotions take the best of me when you know very well that I am never one to let my guard down easily for someone to earn my trust. I realised a year too late that I should have known better, that I should have never placed expectations to begin with, that I should have stayed guarded like I always do.

 

Maybe it is true: perhaps we are just mismatched puzzle pieces. Maybe we are really better off without each other.

 

“Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.”

 

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