This afternoon I realized my misjudgement: you did not change. You are still you, the endearing guy who never ceases to spread the benignity. As I realized that, I felt so bad for accusing you. Little did I know that I was the wicked one. Have always been, will always be.
Here I write something for you, if you care enough to read.
Despite your endless act of kindnesses toward me, I’ve never felt comfortable whenever you’re doing things like that. Because I cannot stop thinking that you are just too kind for me and I am not good enough to be treated like that. The “I don’t deserve you” state of mind gradually predominates myself in such unhealthy way.
I want to be worthy of receiving your warmheartedness but I try to achieve that erroneously. Instead of bettering my quality, I often find myself trying to discover your bad traits—which is such a fruitless journey of discovering because you have none—for the sake of making us even.
The worst thing myself have recently done is accusing you for making me falling for you then break my heart with the piles of uncertainties. The truth is, which I am now fully aware of, I am the one who breaks my own heart. I break my heart by forming a mental image of a perfect you and by getting myself into nonexistent love story with you. Indeed, this delusion of grandeur leads to disappointment and confusion once I find out that the real you is not as perfect as the you I’ve always envisaged in my mind.
It’s never been your fault yet I always acted like it’s all yours.
You must be loathing me now, aren’t you?