Expectational Rewards Kill

Here I lay, almost an hour after midnight, covered in my own naivety. Tears paint my cheeks, from the swollen sack beneath my eyes to the curve of my jaw. My lips are dry--so dry they’re pale pink, and my voice is too hoarse for me to dare to speak.

I don’t bother to wipe my tears, and I barely have enough strength to turn—yet my fingers ache to rush. To rush towards our messages. To see if he's said something—anything—yet. 

Time and time again, I’ve put myself into an undesirable position. I tend to walk towards destruction and stop at the core of it. Most would run, but I never do... now I wane in the wake of destruction, weaking with each breath. There are only so many tears I can cry. I’m tired. I’m tired, and I’m drowning. But when everyone warned me, when they told me to be careful, I plunged. 

I want so bad right now to be able to say, “forget it”. I want to be able to walk away without a single care in the world. But my feelings care more than I can admit for myself. I care a lot. And it sucks to care so much about something that could kill you. Metaphorically, of course. 

Goodnight. 

Remember, a stranger owes you nothing. Not honesty, not respect, and not love. Seek only what you can give, but also, only seek what you are prepared to receive—both directly and not.