But you don’t even know it.
But you think I am free.
But you think you are just another pit stop.
As much as I hurt myself,
I am saving it from you.
As much as you’re hurting,
I am saving yourself from me.
“I have to let you go,” I say, pleading with agony.
“Am I hurting you?” you ask with the same pain I am feeling reflecting in your eyes.
“No,” I take my hand away from your grasp.
“Then, why are you doing this?” you look at me, wanting to beg but all you can show is the sadness in your face.
I desperately want to cup your face in my both hands, brush your cheeks with my thumbs, to stare deeply into your eyes for as long as I can live, and tell you how I actually feel. That I am happy, that I love you, that I want to be with you, but too cowardly afraid to admit that you might hurt me because I am the kind of person who looks back to the past. It is not about mine, it is about your past. The past has always been the weapon to kill. I was once killed by the past, I have not been alive enough to be killed again by it.
Why don’t you just tell him the reason? He will deceive me easily.
Maybe he’s changed! People do change, but only if they really want to.
But you don’t even know if it’s true or not! Better prevent it happening than finding out when it becomes too late to turn away.
“We are not meant for each other,” my heart aches. It squeezes so tight inside my chest. Ouch, am I dying? “We have the same personalities. None of us wants to concede.” Here I go again with the lie that I am not good at doing.
You fall silent for a moment, maybe agreeing with what I just said. If you can see it, my body shivers like there is a war inside. I pin down myself in my seat as hard as I can. If I can’t control myself, I would push myself and put my arms around you so tight and would probably never let go. If that happens, there is nothing in this world that can make me let go. That is why I need to walk away before I trip over and fall into the unending loop. I have to stop myself from getting hurt. I am broken enough. I am ruined enough.
I stood up abruptly.
You take my hand before I can start walking. “Please, stay!”
I clench my other hand. Don’t turn back! Don’t look back! Just go, run!
“Please, stay…” you say once again, sound more vulnerable.
Lover, please stay. I can hear you whisper as you’re loosening up your grip. You’re letting me go.
I don’t want to play your game or any game. Not anymore.
As I walk away,
the trail behind me follows.
We never stop for a rest,
Until we reach that stop,
that some people told it exists.
That some people called,
a happy ending.