We played this game. It was fun, I guess, in a sick-and-twisted way. We pretended not to love each other. We pretended to hurt each other. We pretended to understand each other. I lost.

I stopped playing.

She says she plays this game with everybody. I wonder if everybody else knows it's a game. She didn't tell me. I had to figure it out on my own. I had to realize that nobody could be that heartless and cold. Now I'm caught. On the one hand, I've got this non-refundable one-way plane ticket that will take me right to someone I really dislike. On the other hand, I've burned my bridges here at home.

She's not the only reason I'm going, but she's not the least reason either. Maybe my will to leave wouldn't be strong enough without her. Maybe that's why I'm not just letting her go. Maybe I need to believe in a lost cause. My distressed damsel.

You can't change people, can you?

I want to. I want to show her what love feels like. I want her to feel the pain that she put me through, and then I want to forgive her. I want to be her god. Yeah, that sounds about right. I want to save her from herself. She knows this. She thinks it's funny. She's pushing me away again.

Don't get close to me. I'll only hurt you. And I won't care.

Heart"ache` (?), n. [Cf. AS. heortece.]

Sorrow; anguish of mind; mental pang.



© Webster 1913.

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