Just a few words, that would have been enough...
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...some part of me wonders if maybe the cost I pay for taking my pleasure is that once you start taking something, it doesn't get given any more. If, maybe, demanding something, even once... it's never given freely after that, y'know? It's expected, from then on, that if you want it you'll just... take it. Demand it. Cause it. Not... not have it offered. Not have it given to you when you weren't expecting it but were distantly wishing, hoping, thinking that it would be nice not to have to insist, to push and pull and force, that maybe...
...but maybes, they aren't real. Wishful thinking. Foolishness. Everyone knows what you have to do, if you want something done right. It's certainly not 'wait for someone else to do it'.
So I'm going to demand. I'm going to insist. I'm going to go out and find what I want somewhere and take it.
And I'm going to remember that once, there was someone who just... gave.
And I'm going to miss him. A lot.
And I'm going to come to the conclusion I should have reached a long time ago. He really was too good to be true. Just... imagined. Dreamed. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Because if...
...if it was...
...then it's rational that I feel like someone has just torn out a piece of my heart, and I can't just ignore it. And I'm not sure I can deal with that today.
So. It was a dream. And I have no reason to be hurting, so I am NOT hurting, it's just another dream.
I hate waking up. I hate it even more when I wake up to a realization as frustratingly hurtful as this one.
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