Four months ago, you would hint at being attracted to me. Two months ago, that changed. Now, you hint at how much I've changed.
Do yourself a favor and don't ever wonder why that is. Want an answer? Look in the mirror.
It's called self-preservation. I'd like to cling on to whatever is left of myself that I didn't already give to you. I think you of all people would understand that. I can't bring myself to let my guard down to you again, even if you are the one person I want to do that for.
It's almost like the one night I drove thirty minutes to see you when I was upset. I didn't want to cry in front of you; I don't like people seeing me weak. The one tear that did fall, though, you held my face as you wiped it away. You pushed my hair out of my eyes and put your arms around me. "I'm here for you," you said.
Whenever I feel the urge to cry, I can feel your fingers under my eyes, ready to catch those tears. And then, just like that, I lose that feeling to let them fall.
That describes exactly what it is like to be "myself" around you. In my mind, we are the most perfect of best friends. When I see you, I shut down. I don't want to be weak again. I don't want to be hurt again. I just want to be me. Again.
It's freezing outside, literally. My windows are raised up as the wind gusts past the screen. I'm sitting on my bed looking at my reflection in the window, and what I see past it is a silent, cold world outside. Sigur Rós is playing as the wet snow collects on my car below, and I feel at home.
It's been three months since I've felt this way. Funny how times change.