Let me go.

I’m tired of saying “I’m fine” to you when I’m really not, and don’t ask me if I’m alright when you’ve refused to allow me share my problems with you. I’m not alright, and you know it. I’m also tired of getting “Nothing” when there obviously is something. I’m not going to force you to share anything you don’t want to share, but don’t keep turning around and calling me “insensitive” when I’ve tried to be open and active in keeping you happy.

You’re right, I’m always wrong.

I will leave you, because I’m not good for any of us, never will be good enough.

This is no one’s fault; it’s a simple matter of compatibility, and ours is a single digit on a 100 scale.

I’ll not burden you any further, I promise.

Wherever you’re planning to go, I can’t follow you, and you need to understand that I wasn’t born to follow you. I am different, and it’s not my burden to change just because you want a different me. That’s not me. That’s someone else, and I honestly have no idea where he/she/it/they are/is, but I wish you the best of luck.

I don’t care anymore, because if you’re going to try to see only the parts of me that you like, then you might as well not be seeing me at all. Don’t make threats, don’t make empty promises. Just give me your blessing, and let me be happy.

You told me that you’re not into the “touchy-touchy” things, and declarations of love were never your forte, so don’t expect any of that from me. I crave touch and words, and growing up with you, who never did give me much of that, I’ve been deprived of that for too long.

You tell me that I should read your love from your actions, and that you love me through the care you give me. I can feel your love, and all the worries you have when you’re making dinner or doing laundry. But you’ve avoided discussing what I would like instead of things, food, money… and I can’t help but wonder why you always avoid the l-word, and anything close to it.

Even in the house, we walk our separate ways: I stay in my room, you stay in the living room, and father stays in your room.

When I bought my Surface, you said, “You’d better pay me back, buying so many things!” I don’t take those as jokes: if you tell me that I should pay you back, I will. I’ve heard it so many times, I now think about how much making a sandwich costs to you, and how I should pay you back.

Perhaps I’m asking too much. Too much individual time has molded me into something that you cannot comprehend, and the clay has hardened; I cannot change who I am, unless you break me.

I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment, and when I am bigger and stronger, I will not allow myself to be a burden to you. I will ensure that we’ll never cross paths, for you to never hear my silence again.

That, I can promise.

And even on rainy and stormy days, I will not be thinking of awkward silences and “could’ve”s, but listening to the gentle pitter-patter of rain and snuggling into my warm covers, glad that I allowed myself to be happy.

Either accept me for who I am, or let me go.

Leave me alone.



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