It's never been us, but...

...weirdly, I keep on writing this way for the past few days. Maybe it's simply boredom, the mere fact that nothing's been occupying me for days that I end up, as I've mentioned before, daydreaming about things I never usually think about. Maybe it's idleness that's made me this way. Maybe the mere fact that I find myself with nothing to get hyperactive on. Maybe it's just my hyperactivity, the way I blow up things that are really far from being a big deal. Maybe I've blown this thing to disproportionate chunks again.

But then again, I've been like this for the past six months. Little by little, without me knowing it, I've been slowly sinking.

I wake up this early to my occasional nocturnal asthma. I'm wheezing again. My mind's preoccupied with different thoughts. I end up losing myself to the many sentiments I've held on to. It's been the little moments I've cherished, or maybe it's because of the way I've blown things up. It's always the smallest details that I remember. It's always the little details that make me wonder and think.

Suddenly I remember those few details, when I've felt ridiculously at ease, and in those times, as much as it may seem perfunctory to you, for me it was possibly the best thing that could happen. I understand everyone goes through their own stages, but I was glad to know that somehow, I was being saved from sinking into a much deeper trench. Something's been lifting me up these past six (or seven) months. I've been trying my best to hang on to it.

However, in a world where people expect you to pursue what you want, I just couldn't move a bit. I've long surrendered to the fact that whatever I write would remain something I would just write; that things wouldn't be reflected into actions, that concepts would simply remain concepts and prospects would simply remain as prospects. I know for a fact that when I make a big fuss over the thing, events just go the opposite direction - at least for me - and I end up being traumatized. At least in those two cases things ended up going pretty well. It seems my little admissions have, in the long run, made things a bit more better. Right now, however, even if I've held on to this for six months without complaining, it's beginning to take the best out of me.

I find myself talking to other people about you. I've always wanted to drop your name, but...

I've never wanted to surrender to this fact. I've always believed that everything is just an offshoot of my childish instincts, and I couldn't ever live up to people's expectations. I know that. I'm a coward, simply said. But I wouldn't let myself get distracted further, the way six months of keeping it all in has. In the few instances when you've dropped by and meant everything to something - including me, admittedly - I just fail.

I've always believed that this thing is terribly wrong. I know - some people have and things just didn't go well. Let me say that all that I'm trying to do is save the friendship, the mere fact that I'm standing up despite my weaknesses, trying to live in a freakishly fast-paced world. I do know you've warned me about this once. I do know that if I pursue, it's never going to be the same.

In fact, it isn't the same anymore. Have both ends turned cold? Has the line been shut?

I've vowed to myself never to ask for any assurance, like I've done before, but this time I find myself doing just that. For the days I've been idle, among the few things that have run into my head, the hopelessness of the case always occurs. It's a hopeless case, but I would like to believe it isn't an entirely hopeless one. I concede that it wouldn't be the same. I'd like to believe, however, that I'm simply going the wrong way, that things would get better, even if it takes some years, or forever, even...

This is suicide, I know. I must not have written the past few paragraphs. But, as always, I've wondered if you're listening. As for me, I'm wishing that this is just all a dream.

Infatuation. I wish.

And your responses...

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