Hurt

I let you convince me you saw the passion in my eyes and the sincerity in my words. That you understood the person I was could be pushed and wiggled into something just a bit different, but that it always returned to its position of quiet intellectual when it was just me and you. But when you saw it be pushed and wiggled, your passionate ideal of me burst, and you discovered I wasn't perfect. So here we are. You on one side and me on the other. And you are hurt that I wasn't who you thought I was, and I'm hurt that you can't see I still am.