When I was younger, all my endings were dramatic, full of emotion, saying goodbye with all my might, yet holding on because there was still so much between us and nothing had sunk into indifference. I wanted out, but I didn't let go.
Not really.
And now, endings have this inevitable tiredness about them. Exhaustion. I stop replying because you take up too much energy. And I can't pretend to care. I don't.
And I'm not going to imagine how you feel, to empathise, to make your pain my own.
Because your pain is your pain.
Your mess of complications is your own.
It has nothing to do with me. And although you reach out to me, although you ask me to spend this time with you, all you're asking for is a little companionship, I can't.
And I won't.
It takes too much energy. You take too much energy.
Before I would have paused, because this makes me a bad person.
Now, I don't really care.
I'm too tired.
You've exhausted me.
I don't hate you because I don't feel anything.
And it is this not feeling anything for you that exhausts me most of all.
