I hurt you so you hurt me. That's the way I like to think about it. I took too long thinking about everything. I took too long thinking about things that didn't matter, things that shouldn't matter, so you strayed. That's what I like to tell myself, but I know that it isn't true. You did it because you thought I wouldn't find out. Or maybe you weren't thinking of me at the time. Who knows? The result is the same. So I should confront you about it right? Throw a fit? Break a plate? But you can never know. I'll never let you know that I know. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's because we weren't anything. Maybe it's because I made assumptions. Maybe it's because I'm embarrassed that I cared more than I let on, so I won't reveal how much I cared now. What good would that do? You'd spend a week, a month, a year, pleading for something that I won't give you. And even if I did, it would be spoiled and tainted and imperfect, and all before it'd even begun.
LITTLE PIECES LOCKED AWAY IN BOXES