I Don’t Know Why I Do This

Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.

Maybe I’m insane. Delusional.

But every time you text me, I text back, thinking that things will be different.

You draw me in with your pretty words.

You draw me in with your inconsistent care.

And then frustration shakes me awake. Why do I make myself so available for you?

You don’t give me half the time, emotion and energy that I devote to you. You take what I give you, and like a miserly penny-pincher, you barely give me anything in return.

I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you. I want my heart back. I want my mind back. I want my time back. I want my life back.

I don’t know why I give you so much of myself, when you give me so little.

But this I know for sure, your time is up.

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