Insecurities

I sometimes wish I can read through your mind. A tiny peek would do, pictures would be enough. I just want to know if I’m there. Still, there. No matter how much I’m wishing for your happiness, sometimes I want you to be sad when you think of me, when you think of us. Home is where the heart is. Am I still in yours? Am I still home just as you will, always, be mine?

Though I may have caused you sadness and a whole lot of sacrifices, though I’ve mentioned everything before and I’m just being plain repetitive, I want to write about this to feel some kind of comfort. In what way, I don’t know. I want to wish for everything to be different, but then I don’t think the consequences would be comforting. I don’t want to blame you because I can’t wash my hands clean without being in your shoes. I just want to understand, I just want to know. I want you to be explicit, because time is blurring the implications I would’ve easily read otherwise.

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June 2012
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