X, I like you a lottle. It’s like a little, except that it’s a lot. There. I’ve said it.

Baby don’t you break my heart slow.

I’ve tried and I’m failing. You all know about the downward spiral between X and me. I’ve tried not to talk about it, hoping that it will all go away if I attempted to ignore it. But it didn’t. And I talk about it as if I was going to be surprised.

That was, by the way, a childish attempt on my part and the mental equivalent of me sticking my fingers into my ears and going lalalala I can’t hear you lalala. I know. I’m no longer six years old but I was really trying.

By now, it should be clear that nothing good is going to come out of it, but I’m in mega denial mode.

Mainly because I felt that there was something. And also partly because I’m stubborn and have that competitive streak in me. How can I give up without putting up a good fight?

The forbidden fruit is so tempting precisely because there were instructions given not to touch it.

The only thing left for me to do would be to confess how I feel, then be prepared to listen to the whole it’s not you it’s me speech then perhaps I’ll be miserable for a while and finally give it up.

But I’m not brave enough to face it. It’s not as if I know I’m dying and therefore have that let’s-go-grab-life-by-its-balls bravado.

As Vonda Shepard sang:
I’d rather you be mean than love and lie (not applicable in my case)
I’d rather hear the truth and have to say goodbye
I’d rather take a blow at least then I would know
But baby don’t you break my heart slow.

Tonight, I’ll be burying my face in my pillow and throwing a mini tantrum by my lonesome self like how when I was a kid and my mum did not accede to my tiny request and therefore I felt that the world sucked.

Only difference is that I’ll wake up feeling really stupid and appalled at my lack of maturity, then regret not going to bed earlier and having to put on my game face to face the reality called Work.



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