:: scribbles ::

We were supposed to talk. You know, people talk to try to make things better, clear things up or make things right… but more than half of the time, I kept my mouth shut. He wanted me to speak, maybe because he was bored or anxious or both, but I can’t. Besides, he already knew what’s bothering me. If not, either he doesn’t know how to read English or he’s not sensitive enough. Obviously, it’s the latter. I often wonder why some men need to be spoonfed when it comes to them knowing what’s going on. Oh well. I just knew that once I opened my mouth, the tears will flow. I had to pinch myself whenever my throat constricts just to prevent myself from crying in front of him and looking like a fool. It hurt. Still does.

The "talk" actually gave him the chance to explain himself and honestly, I’d rather listen, but I didn’t hear much. It was disappointing. I feel like I’m suspended in midair and I don’t know where to go. I hate it.

I took some pics of the place where we "talked". We stayed there for less than an hour but it seemed like forever. I hope he’ll prove me wrong. Maybe we could still fix this, but I have to say, the damage has been done.

P.S.
He was hospitalized last night and had an operation. I hope he’ll be alright. Yes, I still care.