"I'm tired of wanting you to give me something that you cannot or will not."
--On Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus
In the core of my being, of course, I never want it to end. I want him to call, and say he's filing for divorce, and that we can finally have that damn cup of coffee.
At some point, you promise yourself that you aren't going to wait anymore, but depression is all about time being stretched into miserable hours slowing. All you do is wait--staring at walls--staring at bowls of food you can't eat.
He never shows up, he never calls, he never TXT-messages. He's oblivious to the pain on the other end of the phone.
Perhaps that has always been what's angered me the most--the quiet disregard he has used as a wall. Life lives on between our meetings, and yet, he has no knowledge of me.
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