This years love; It was what it had been. I regretted some of the things I had shown, and a good many of the words I had said and sent. I wasn’t unhappy without it; just disappointed at its absence because it had been something I had thought was remotely real. Scared was the word on both minds; but in multiple levels. I was scared of him; the way he spoke and what he wanted. He had been scared because of what he thought I wanted. I was unsure as to whether what he thought I wanted was the reality of the situation; but it didn’t matter now anyway, because it had gone. Whilst I had been creating something, he had been minimising it. Whether this was subconscious to him or not, it was debatable. The fact that nothing had been said until the last minute, could have been relevant. He had walked away, in the place he’d dropped me off on so many occasions after I had stayed with him. The difference was that that time I wasn’t wearing any of his clothes, and I didn’t smell of him, and I didn’t have a ridiculously big grin across my face, which I didn’t have to try and turn into a coy smile when I walked passed someone on my way back home. I was wearing my own clothes, and smelling of nothing but a loss. I was by myself, and that was why I cried for a while subsequently. I had missed him; and longed for some kind of emotion; but nothing came. Not the kind I had hoped he could give anyway. I had pleaded through actions for some time; for him to give some form of care; and it was at that last minute, I had given up as he turned and I walked away back to the Lake where the sun was shining and everyone was laughing. I had left the Lake because I didn’t feel laughter. It was a long way off; the opposite emotion was what I felt. I wanted to speak, to talk, communicate, bond again and remember why we had first moved to something meaningful in the first place. True to himself, he refused to show or give. I was unsure as to who was at fault; but I felt little but self-pity after the events of the week before. Self pity was something I did too well; and it all stemmed from feeling violated; and used. Our hearts had given in at one point, but it seems that his mind was fighting for repression; which was what he was used to as far as I can tell. I didn’t think it was healthy to be that way, but then im no-one to judge because I made a good many mistakes, and I knew all about repression, depth and independence of an unhealthy manner. This years loving had come to an end; but I had dealt with it like I always do, and had found another. The thing was, this was going to have to come to an end aswell soon; due to the same reason that the orginal distraction would have had to end by anyway. I didn’t know how I felt now; I had managed somehow to not have to confront him or the situation. All I feel is anger, with a splash of regret. I don’t regret many things; and I know that if I tried to ease my regret by means of talking to him, it would only ease the regret in the sense that i’d remember why I didn’t want to bother anymore.