divaSpace.

Loss. A piece of me has definitely been lost, given and taken and now lost forever. I ask myself over and over why I give, and why I feel, because I know it will just be taken from me to never be seen again. I give more than I get in return. Which of course leaves me holding an empty paper bag in the end of noone's things but mine.

He held back his things, his feelings, his commitments, his soul, but I gave mine. Entirely my choice. Because we would never amount to anything he held back. ...Did it occur to you that we couldn't amount to anything because you wouldn't, couldn't, give any more than you did? Did it occur to you that to get, to move forward, to ... feel, you have to let yourself do the same?

We are over. I am sadangrydisappointed that we are over. Only this time I know it's not all my fault. A good part of it is, because of the way I am and circumstance and situation. But he never even gave it a real chance.

This time, for the first real time, it wasn't a half-right. It wasn't drowning. I wasn't being a martyr. And I didn't scare the fucking shit out of him. ... He scared the shit out of himself. Because of who, and more importantly what we were. Or are, even.

The only real question now worth asking is: is it worth asking this very question to him. Did you really give it a chance? Would you really give it a chance? Because it is worth giving the chance to it. You just have to be prepared.

mar05