I only want you when I’m not with you. I like your company. You’re smart, you’re fun, you’re the right amount of douchery and sarcasm. I’ve gotten used to that and it’s endearing, in a way. I guess I’ve sort of figured out why you and I don’t work out as a legitimate dating couple. Despite the fact that you make for really good company, I guess there are just times when it’s got a chokehold on me. And there are just times when I’m not comfortable in certain situations with you. Like your “incredibly strange” habits, I know there have been times when you display them, but I just can’t name specific situations. I can’t put it in a category either. It’s a case to case thing, and maybe it’s not you. Maybe it IS me, and my mood for that particular situation. And maybe I’ve been trained to hide it so well and lie my way out of having to explain it that you wouldn’t even know what to do about it. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything about it, either.
It’s strange how I like the fact that you’re not overwhelmingly clingy, and you let me go where I like. And you don’t like the whole texting every other hour thing. But there are times when I wish you would just randomly say hi, or send me a message, or check up on me maybe. I don’t know. There are lots of times when I’d like to send you a message randomly, but I’m scared that it come off as clingy to you. Or maybe you’d find it trivial and insignificant, and ultimately annoying.
For some reason, I can’t be sad or irritable around you either. You don’t react well to that. Not that you mean to be insensitive or anything, but really, when you don’t care, you can’t fake it. To you, my problems are trivial. And I don’t mean to describe you as some sort of boorish asshole. I know why you don’t care about these little things that bother me. One, I don’t give you enough backstories about the situation to shed more light on it. And two, I only get to tell you about it when it bothers me enough that I have to let it out. But when it doesn’t bother me that much, you’d never have guessed it was there. So it kind of just gets out there without a warning.
Lastly, there’s this: Would you call it passive agression that I put it up on Tumblr, half-hoping you’d see it and act accordingly and half-hoping you won’t see it so I won’t have to explain it to you? I guess that’s the thing, too. I can’t seem to say exactly what I want to say to you. Partly because I know you’d come up with some demeaning (thinly veiled as cute or girly or womanly) adjective to describe me and I’d get all indignant and just drop the whole thing altogether. You have such a way of explaining your actions so well, that the fact I’ve chosen to bring it to light makes me look like I’m nitpicking. Or being overly sensitive. And when you do address the issue without me having to bring it up, for the life of me, I can’t come up with anything to say. I’m so fucking scared of offending you or saying the wrong thing to you that it just makes me go blank and wish for the conversation to be over.
No, this isn’t me wanting another go at the whole thing and just whining so you’d prove me wrong and want me back and all that Disney-Hollywood ending shit. This is legitimately something I just want to get out of my chest. I mean, I like your company (as previously stated), yes. But we’ve got other people in our lives. You’ve got someone and I’ve got someone, sort of (which? Beats me, but there’s someone there who fills in that spot). Besides, we will definitely find something to argue about. And if we don’t we’re 100% sure we’ll get on each others nerves, until we ultimately just want to shoot each other in the face. Or worse, we might not even have enough emotion invested in each other that we just quit the whole damn thing without so much as a flicker of angst.
Ayun, masabi ko lang.
I can’t even put a proper end to this fucking post. So I’ll just send myself a message for when I read this in the future:
Mich, ang dami mong nasasabi at nasusulat. Pero hindi mo man lang masabi sa taong dapat mong sabihan. Para kang gago. Hahaha.
