I really just wanted you to give a damn. Give a damn about something. About us, about yourself. About life. Something. You were always so disconnected and disengaged. It translated into your life meaning nothing, my life meaning nothing, our life meaning nothing. And I began to judge you. I did, because you sat back and allowed life to just happen to you and I resented it. And I resented you. You took ownership in hindsight. You were reactive—if even. You got the short end of the stick and you couldn’t even react. Or you wouldn’t. But for whatever reason you sat by aimlessly, listlessly, ridiculously empty. And you were always the one left with the pieces, left looking stupid. But what pains me is that I wanted so much for you. I believed in you so much. More than you did yourself. I supported you in every way possible. I stood by you and with you and even for you when you didn’t even stand for yourself. I attempted to pick up your broken pieces, I attempted to mend your frayed edges. And none of it warranted your taking control.
Maybe you got the short end because you did not respond. Either way, it translated into simple and annoying and frustrating. I just wanted a reaction out of you. I guess I realized that any reaction is better than no reaction at all.
You gave me blank, empty, deadpan. Lifeless. Over.