I check your blog every single time I log on. Much as I tell myself not to, I cannot help myself.
It is a habit that I will have to break one day.
I look at my clock and do a mental calculation of what time it is over at your side, though I know the answer already. Have you blogged? How was your day? What did you do? Where did you go? Who did you meet? What did you cook this time round? I want to know what I shouldn't want to know.
Are you angry with my last comment? Was it too blunt? Too irritating? Too boastful [But I'm seldom this.]? I must check soon. Must must must. I don't want to leave you with the wrong impression, even if it doesn't matter anymore.
Was that me? Was that me you are talking about? It can't be me. Why should it? Much as I wish for it to be me, it can't be. For I don't hold that significant spot in your heart. There can only be one, and it's not me. No more. Never did.
Yet every day, every hour, every minute, I think of you, and ask the same question I have been asking myself the past 3 months. Why?
But I do know the answers.
We were impossible from the start, yet we started the impossible- thinking of creating a possibility out of it.