perfectlyimperfect

There's no mistake when you signaled that you don't want me around. It was your signature cocktail of hate, rejection, distance and disgust. The unmistakable face contortion you displayed when I was a step too close into your invisible radius of comfort, triggered an instantaneous reaction of mine, which you can't detect, because my reaction of choice is more endothermic than exothermic. I rather be mad at than to be mad. My poker face is really bad when it's bad, but when it's good you have no way of telling. I bet you never know what I'm feeling that time, didn't you? Good, because I don't want to give you any satisfaction from your grand retaliation. You bet underneath I'm hurt. Who won't after the unnecessary overly-amplified gesture of eff off? I won't describe what kind of pain I've gone through for fear you might read this (no, I bet my life you won't) and gain instant pleasure from it, but let's just say such tr

It was brief. A second of infatuation. Followed by another second of hesitation. Then the next by desperation. It's just a gentlemanly gesture. A kind help to a stranger. But one thing set this one apart from the other. That love was in the air. It was obvious that love was in the air. But I was engulfed by a monstrous wave of self-doubt. The split second of hesitation drifted me miles away. And in the vast ocean, I am once again, alone.