Lost answers

Tell me I didn’t just imagine that there’s a spark in between. I've been replaying the memories we had together in my mind just to find out if I did miss something. Maybe, I have misread the past 70 days of warm embraces, wet kisses, morning afters, dinners, and all the talks and laughter. I am reading them again. I am carefully looking at the pieces you left, the pieces that seem to complete the puzzle, which ironically made me puzzled for nights.

I am not seeking for love. I am just seeking for answers. Tell me something real. Tell me something that isn’t covered with fear. I can sense that you’re scared of being responsible for breaking someone’s heart. But let me tell you this: You didn’t break mine because it was I who broke my own heart. Yes, it is possible. It is possible to break your own heart because of the choices you made.

I chose to walk down the road in high heels instead of wearing my comfy, old sneakers. I tripped and broke a joint. I bruised my legs. You weren’t responsible for that. You weren't responsible for anything, really. All I wanted is a proof that I haven’t gone crazy and I just imagined that there was you and me.

Yes, it’s you AND me. Not us. I'm aware and I’m perfectly find with it. And I guess it's not just me, who have misread this hullabaloo. It's clear with me that there is you, me—separate individuals who have found happiness in each other’s arms. It is as simple as that.