I Refuse To Let You Be The One Who Decides When We’re Done
Just when I started to get used to these new emotions, these new experiences, the new me and the new year and the new you, you chickened out.
There were five strings between us. Five strings connecting us. Five strings that were pulling us together. I never let myself get tied down or to get too attached because when the time would come that I would want to run away, I couldn’t. But I took a huge risk because I thought that you would be worth it, that you would be with me for a long time and that I would never ever think of wanting to run away from you.
I was wrong. There were so many times that I wanted to run away. That I wanted things to end because I was so scared that I would get hurt. But I chose to stay. I reminded myself that you would be worth it.
Just when I started to get used to these new emotions, these new experiences, the new me and the new year and the new you, you chickened out. I still don’t know what happened but something definitely changed. It was like you cut three strings without hesitation. I lowered my pride. I don’t usually lower my pride. But I did. I tried to contact you first, asking you questions to keep the conversation going, texting you the things that happened to me during the day – something I never would have done with anyone else. Eventually, I stopped.
The three strings left empty spaces in me that I didn’t know how to fill. You stopped telling me everything, or anything. Words were scarce whenever we were together. Maybe you got tired of me or maybe we got tired of each other and I was too prideful to make an effort to fill the gaps.
The two strings that were left were pulled and stretched apart as distance, unspoken words, and unexpressed emotions filled the vast space between us.
One last string and I was so ready to let go, and then you pulled it to make me turn towards you. I was so sure that you were going to cut it, but you didn’t. Maybe you kept this last string to tug it whenever you would need me.
Maybe I’ll be the one to cut it someday. Maybe I’ll be the one to untie it slowly. Then, silently, I’ll be the one to let go of this last string. Not you. 
