He languished in his decision, and looking back I realized I already knew. Adept at reading the signs, deciphering body language, too keenly aware of every fucking thing, I already knew.
It's not the lack of interest that makes me derisive, or angry, or in a mood to delete everything, all the words, all the waste. It was the lack of response to my understanding and kind words; he simply didn't care. He'd already moved on, and I knew that already.
As I wipe away that experience, I don't understand what the point of making a connection is anymore. It always seems so easy for them to step away from, to wander away from, and I am left with my jaw hitting the floor, wondering how I gave myself away again even though I keep trying not to.
I guess I can't help giving myself away.
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