Melancholy

This is me. Wasting time. Comforting myself. Managing disappointments. This is where I draw the line, I mark the mark, I cross it out and sign it under my property. This is where your trespassing ends, because you know no boundary. This is where my love for myself prevails more than the love I am still willing to give. This is where I am willing to let myself soar and not be bound by you, and vice versa. This is where I pretend to not care, and succeed. This is where I pretend to be strong enough to not mind, and believe. This is where I continue to love you by letting ourselves be two completely separate beings, instead of one, because 'we' would always be just 'me'.

Until it dawns on us both, and until we make amicable compromises, this will stand. For now, I guess.

Now this is me resigning, taking a hike somewhere, going the distance, taking a leave, or maybe giving up.