January 9, 2015
I wooed her with sweet words, longing looks and secretive smiles. Sometimes she would look at me the way a child looks at a toy for the first time, with such focus and intensity, interest lost after a few seconds, ready to move on to the next thing. It would either be pleasant or hurtful, because how could there be only one, constant, uniform reaction to an action? It would always depend on what I was feeling that day. And therein lay my mistake: I depended on her for how I would feel. When she hurt me, I let her.