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I’ve probably backspaced five times, typing what I really want to say. For the first time, I’m failing at being absolutely cryptic about how I feel on this thing. And I’m scared that you’re going to stumble upon it, read it and realize that it’s you. And as mean as I’m thinking right you, you probably will think that it’s you because everyone else around you makes you feel like the world revolves around every fiber of your being.

What is it with you, anyway? Sometimes I feel like it’s all about you, and that’s saying a lot because I like talking about me a lot. But the thing is, you only go so deep. If we’re talking about a pool, I’m talking about the kiddie pools were you jump in and land flat on your ass because it’s that shallow. So really, we’re talking about a fucking wading pool. If we’re going to talk about you all the time, don’t you think we can talk about something more substantial? Or is the weather and its correlation to how awesome your day is as substantial as our conversations get?

A friend of mine says, “Sana maging bukas tayo” (I hope we can be open). Open to what? Well, it can bloody mean anything – open to the opportunity, open to the others being open to you, open to the chance that maybe something can come out of this. Well, obviously you’re not open.

It’s probably my fault, though. It’s my fault for expecting something from you, when in reality I shouldn’t be expecting anything. So you know what? The ball’s in your court. Because I’m seriously tired of having to make an effort, and I’ve exhausted all my fucking resources for it.