I found this not-so-vindictive write-up in the sketch book and I couldn’t believe that fact that time hasn’t changed me at all. I’m still this person, unwilling to be the vulnerable one. Every time somebody takes a snippet of my feelings for them, I demand to see them giving me a part of them that nobody else had a privilege to take. When we part ways because we always do, I treasure these replacements that the other person has left with me as a new version of myself.
PS: I know this post has a slightly morbid sense of being, but I assure you, most of us want this at some point or the other, this need to let the other person be hurting without our presence.