If you are calling me out… Then count me out.

Im laying here on my side with someone else’s furr baby laying on my hip. I’m not really sure how I’m suppose to feel anymore but before you left, you handed me a house key you had made and taught me how to work your house alarm… But you don’t believe in this legally.

You told me you loved me and I choked up. All I know is my hip is warm and you’re at work waiting to come home to me on your lunch break.

Stop being so dangerous.
I’m trying to feel numb but you are making this difficult.

When I was 17, someone once told me that if you pretend you don’t care for long enough, you eventually won’t. Years of pretending and said persons predictions have proved true. Now I see what I am missing. I see what people have and the connections they build. I see the ones they try to built with me and my instant rejection to their ideas. Because caring gets you hurt. Why would you care when you could pretend nothing matters? After all, it doesn’t. Right? That’s what I thought. I don’t want to think that. I want to be open again, like I was.  I took someone else’s coping mechanism and made it my own. I turned myself into someone so cold. If I could change anything, I would tell that lanky girl with the long dark hair to stay warm. To not grow cold and to never push people away again. Is it too late to tell the woman here that, too?