The Moon

I knew from the moment that spark ended that you didn’t care. That you wouldn’t, afterwords, I should say. Because damn everything if I didn't actually see something different in your expression at the time.
But you only smiled at me and left, and I tried to convince myself it was nothing.

But I’m sorry that I can’t pretend to forget things like you do.

And I apologise that I didn’t want to hide the fact that I enjoyed it as much as you did.

Maybe I need to work on that, and I promise to if that’s what it takes. The sleepless nights and the aftermath of it all are worth it. The days that I think too much about it, it’s worth actually feeling you there, like you’re supposed to be.

Even when you wouldn’t look at me afterwords, I didn’t regret the decision at all. Your attitude should throw me off and make me realise all my efforts are futile in the long run, and that whatever that feeling is (that rush between you and me), only really lasts moment in our long lives. But then I realise that I’d rather feel whatever you make me feel than nothing.

And then it’s all okay.

You can continue with the talks, the kisses, and the feelings you repress later on because it’s worth it, and I don’t mind anymore. I know I’ll get over it one day, whether or not that solution involves you.