I am light.
The numbness I began to feel towards the other person, the times I knew I should reach out but didn’t, the times I left messages unread and unanswered, and the times I let trivial arguments become big deals that could no longer be hidden under carpets without bulging out. I only know of my wrongs, my contribution to the lifelessness that is now the bulk of my friendships.
I’m aware of the possibility of this ending, of we growing tired of us, of your piercing eyes no longer wanting to penetrate the barricades guarding my soul or of them penetrating, but no longer having that effect of making me feel wanted, like they normally do. I’m aware of the possibility of my exuberant laughter during our conversations, and everything I feel when I tell you I love you, fading as time passes, and vice versa too.