It’s not you, it’s not me either.

Hi, you. You doing good? You seem to have good times, at least that what I’ve seen on my timeline. But well, I wouldn’t be surprised if those frozen smiles weren’t 100 percent true. I’ve learned it the hard way that social media only shows what you want to show and magnifies those things.

Hi again, you. Is it weird to ask you how life’s been treating you lately? I mean, we do talk from time to time, but it’s been a while since our last heart to heart talk. No, scrap that. It’s been way too long.

I miss those time when we were inseparable and just text messages away. I miss the talk, the laugh,the tantrum, the trash talk. I miss us.

It’s easy to blame you. Trust me, I can come up with hundreds items why we are not who we used to be. I can blame your job (which I have no idea how you really feel about it since you only talk to me about the bad times), your ongoing problems about i don’t know what, and honestly, I’ve come to terms to accept the fact that maybe I’m just not worth any of your effort.

Hush, now. I’m also to blame. I shouldn’t have given up too fast on our relationship. I should’ve been less sensitive about rejections. I shouldn’t have stopped reaching out to you even when I found a new haven. I was just tired and way too worn out to start over. I don’t have any energy more now, I hope you understand.

We didn’t see it coming, did we? All of those plans remained plans and none of us even bothered to start over. All of the sweet late night talks will rest in our memories as I guess there will be no next time. I know I’m too exhausted to even throw the idea.

I know, my fault. Yours too.

Someone told me his reason when he stopped trying to save something/one: it was just not worth the pain. I honestly believe I’ve got my fair share of unsuccessful efforts, and as painful as it may sound, I don’t think that I’m (well, we’re) worth the pain anymore.

No, it’s not you. It’s not me either. It’s just one of the natural selection scenes -survival of the fittest. Maybe in the end, we just don’t fit each other perfectly anymore, or we find others who fit us easier and better.

I’m no longer the cheese on your mac. I’ve moved on to toasts and bacon and become croque monsieur while you no longer settle for simple cheese sauce, you want carbonara now. We’ve found other things and we liked it better.

So one day if someone asks what happened, I’ll tell them that it wasnt your fault, not mine either. Let’s just agree to blame life. It just kinda happened.


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