It's not you. It's just me being too good for you.

Warning: This post is written under influence. Of alcohol. And in no intention of deleting or correcting it.


Watching you grabbing her. Kissing her neck. And then trying to do the same to me. Really? 
Really?
Not caring for what I want. Small things, like, I asked for water, you gave me whiskey. And you know (at least that's what I thought) I don't like or drink whiskey. 
Not caring for my feelings.
Yes, you let me know you like to keep your options open.
I clearly told you I'm not OK with that. I want to be the one and only.
We agreed to be friends.
I flipped out on one ocassion, realising I care too much for you. 
We talked this out.
I still cared for you.
Tonight. Tonight was an eye-opener.
Alcohol loosened your thoughts and tongue. 
I realised I was not that special. I was just one of the girls you managed to bang when you were in a relationship (and you still wonder, why your now ex-girlfriend couldn't quite trust you ... yes, she was a tad psycho ... but nevertheless ... ).
That was my problem. I have put you on a piedestal. I thought so highly of you. You are a genius.
But as a human, you have failed, by my opinion.
In your pursuit of not being ordinary, you have trampled and destroyed. Not knowing that of course. 
Yes, you do care. Well, you care in a way. And then you get afraid that it is too much and you destroy it.
I can't play this anymore. I cared too much for you. Too much.
Tonight, when walking home from the club, tears rolling down, the pain in my chest, trying to breathe. 
Yes, I realized what I already knew a long time ago. 
I am too good for you. 
And you will, unfortunately, never know this. 
As much as I have wished and dreamed of the moment, when it would hit you ... realisation what you had and lost ... this will not happen. At least probably not as I have imagined.
I have Gotye, Somebody I used to know, on repeat. Lame. Passe.
I'm mad at myself. I got fooled again. I thought and hoped, even though I knew ... I felt ... this was not it.
I cared too much. I worshipped you too much. (heck, even plain worship is waaay too much)
Nevertheless ... I still dream ... that it hits you ... I was the best thing you almost had ... and you lost me. As a lover. As a friend. 
I can't be a witness of you fooling around. It hurts me. It hurts me even more, that you knowing I care for you still exposes me to all this info and scenes of you fooling around. 
Me silently suffering.
Well, dear, the horse just tripped and your landing was not that majestic. 
My realisation of all this was not that great.
It hurts. Crying my eyes out. Still wondering, how the fuck you can't see how much I care for you and how much you hurt me with your reckless behaviour.
It's me. It's not you.
It's just me being too good for you.