“I can’t care,” I tell myself. I have told myself so many times now, that it becomes natural to say. Although, no matter how many times I have said it, I still do not believe it. I wish I did believe the words, yet it seems impossible for me to ever truly believe them. I begin to do things to get my focus off of the subject. I start to watch a movie, but half way through, I realize I have no idea what is going on. I start to make dinner, yet I quickly find out that we do not have milk, butter or noodles. All of which are vital for making Macaroni and Cheese. I start to go on a drive, yet I quickly find out that I am out of gas, and still no where different, than where i was before.
“I can’t care,” I tell myself once again. But I still do not believe it. I sit in my room and begin writing letters to my friends. But quickly, I begin to lose my way for words, and forget who i was writing to in the first place. I then turn on the TV, yet all of the shows blend closely together, and I feel as if it is one giant show, with numerous actors and no plot.
“I can’t care,” I tell myself once more time. Hoping that this time will do the job, and I will forget all about what is really going on in my head. Yet, to my dismay, It does not work. And I am once again reminded of you. Your smile. Your laughter. And once again It reminds me of me. My obbsession. My annoyance. I feel burdened with the idea that I am so in awe of you, that I become whiny and needy.
“I can’t care,” i tell myself. But now the words hurt me. They feed the anger inside of me.
“Why can’t I care?”
“Because,” I tell myself, “It just causes you more pain.”
“Maybe it is good pain?”
“No.” I tell myself, “There is no such thing as ‘good’ pain. And he definately would not be the cause of it.”
“But his smile. His laugher-“
“His habits. His faith-“
“But his eyes. His humor-“
“His burdens. His flaws-“
“But,” I tell myself, “I think I love him.”
“NOOO! You must not say that. You must never say that.”
The same conversation plays in my head on repeat. It never ends. And there is really no beginning either.
“It hurts so much,” I tell myself, “It really will be the death of me.”
“No, you will not die.”
I pause for a moment, “But perhaps,” I begin to tell myself, “Perhaps I would prefer to die.”
“Yes. You would,” It says to me, “Yes, you would.”