Self-injurious Behavior

I knew there would be nothing between us, when you said I was easy to talk to, that you were comfortable telling things to me. Too close to the words he said, and I knew you were a different face, a different name, even a different man, but also, the same. He would tell me things I didn’t want to know. Things that would have made me happier if I didn’t know. Girls, drugs, independence. I’d nod reassuringly and then, die a little inside. Take the words like a dagger in the heart and smile, betraying myself over and over again. You. You want to talk for hours. You want to laugh for hours. But you throw in things, don’t you, just like he did to be sure to push me away. Girls. Distance. Goals. To be sure I know you won’t let me in. It pains me to know you can’t see past my lies and know, in your heart and conscience, you should let me go because I won’t let you go. I will hate you soon because you think, like he did, that telling me what you want and don’t want absolves you of any pain I might inflict on myself in your honor.