The phone calls slowly become sparse, the messages too. You ignore, believing it to be a sign of maturing of the relationship. Your heart says something is not right, but you shut it up. You pray that your intuition is wrong, that your thoughts are a fragment of your imagination. You make peace with the demon.
Soon the phone calls stop completely, as do the messages. Your questions are met with a stoic silence. Finally, you ask in a quivering voice. But instead of a response you get accusations -- of being silly, sentimental, stupid. You retreat, feeling guilty.
Then you find out, quite by chance. There is someone else, there always was someone else, you could just not see it. You cry, you shout, he stands still, looking away. You leave. You say you hate him, but in your heart you know you love him.
Soon the phone calls stop completely, as do the messages. Your questions are met with a stoic silence. Finally, you ask in a quivering voice. But instead of a response you get accusations -- of being silly, sentimental, stupid. You retreat, feeling guilty.
Then you find out, quite by chance. There is someone else, there always was someone else, you could just not see it. You cry, you shout, he stands still, looking away. You leave. You say you hate him, but in your heart you know you love him.
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