I’m the ‘for the mean time girl’. The escape from reality. The meanwhile. The journey, not the destination. The house but not the home.
I’m the lazy Sunday afternoons. I’m the one you talk to when you’re bored with everything else and want to lift your mood up. The conversation between the pauses of your life. I’m special to you because I’ve accepted you for who and what you are. You want me because I’m the only one who can put up and call you out of your bullshit. You like me because I ease off your sadness and I always prioritize your happiness.
And to you, that’s what love and relationship are all about. And so you say you love me.
But no matter how permanent you say this is, no matter how much you promise that when you come back, you’re going to come back to me, I cannot escape this feeling that maybe, what we have is temporary.
For I am not the ‘priority’ girl. I am not the reality. I am not the always. And I am not the home.
What I am is expendable, even when you keep saying I’m not, because you’re actions are already enough to convince me that I am.