I didn’t want to talk to you.
Receiving your messages before, I shrugged them off.
And I owed you nothing. Not a damn thing. I didn’t have to call you back.
But I’m not built that way.
I’ve spent far too many nights reaching out to empty bottles and lonely walls echoing my wretched breathing and the staggering pace of a sickened heartbeat.
I’ve played the part of functioning human while all were none the wiser to the inner cataclysm that just seemed to be on a never ending loop of emotional implosion.
No. I didn’t want to talk to you.
But I didn’t want you to be lost in that all too familiar gaping void of isolated solitude, either.
Begrudgingly, I did what I had promised myself I would never do again.
I let you back in.
Gods curse my caring heart.