But I’ll be lying if I say you’re my best “I’ll never know”.
Because I can spend hours and pour my imaginations on you, thinking about what could have or should have happened. The ending will still be the same.
Maybe we’d wound up hating each other, or maybe this time we’d reluctantly part.
Maybe it’d be me neglecting you, or it’d be you being too clingy and suffocating.
Maybe one of us would be tired of the other, or we’d have one too many hot-headed arguments to stay together.
Maybe you would never be able to get rid of your ghost, or I’d finally had enough of second guessing.
Maybe it was just a short relapse after all, or maybe we were too fundamentally different for it to ever work out.
Either way, we’d still go our separate ways.
Because us? We’re the stuff of dreams, and we never stand a chance in the real world.
There is just no reality in which we would ever have a happy ending, we had far too many ghosts and too many things standing in our way.
And I know for sure one of us will eventually be too sensible to stay together when letting go is the safest route.
It would wear even me out to constantly be the one fighting the hardest while others never give a damn.
“Us against the world” would never be our forte anyway.
So it’s high time to let go, because I’m getting fed up of this never ending cycle.
The canary might have lived it’s life to the fullest, but even it would had enough of being in just one coal mine after another.
Giving it all for love – or a mirage of it – and comfort only sounds romantic in theory, after all.
And all the cost is seriously does not worth what I gained. Because one too many reckless abandon means I desperately need to sober up.
À la mort,
You – all of you – turned me into an even more bitter realist.