Prospects. Only prospects.
Funny how so much changes yet so much stays the same. I feel hopeful.
* * *
I was told today that even though I made it clear to him that I couldn't make anymore effort, that hope will probably survive. And that's probably true. Considering the way I feel, I know, as the fighting-type, that I'll find hope in even the most seemingly-insignificant circumstances.
His silence and inability to fight makes it easier. But his jealous reaction, the only reaction by which I get a sense of caring, fuels me with hope. It's perverse.
I was subject to a seemingly jealousy-inducing circumstance today. And the odd thing is, it actually made it slightly easier. Knowing that the only passion I'll ever receive from him will be jealousy, or anger, or frustration only serves as a confirmation that moving on is best.
Taking back my sketch needs to mean taking back my heart. He can't have it anymore because he doesn't know what to do with it, and unintentionally drops the ball when he doesn't realize he's even doing it.
I am of the fighting-type I've been reminded of today. The guy that I was seeing last week, has no fight. It's easy. I could have it easy. So I don't. I want what's good and hard.
It's perverse.
But on the flip side, fighting for what is meaningful, and forever, and
good, isn't. I'm not fighting for us anymore. I'm fighting for me.
