i'm not over you. but i try to because i see no point. and you may have moved on and we may go our seperate ways, engross ourselves in the quotidian routine we are now attached at the seams to, but the truth is i still care about you. i won't ever come between or become the sometimes girl or steal you away from her. never. but i will be the foolish martyr and ache internally and smile and rejoice at your triumphs as if i fought the battle on your behalf. i will still read letters, gaze at photographs and revive old memories, no matter how many times i delete, abandon or try to deny myself the tortured pleasure. because we both know it was my fault and for that i take the blame. but that doesn't alter the fact of why i still can't give myself away or why i feel this tiny splinter of jealousy and sadness at the back of my throat, or why i still smile fondly at good memories (irrespective if it was just a season) and think will i ever find another one like you?
love
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