I have been mulling it all over and I think I have had just about enough of you making me feel and look like a fool. You have had more grace than you realistically deserve given your past indiscretions, and I am starting to find being endlessly at the mercy of your whims rather irksome. Say what you might about what the purpose of this period of self analysis and exile from me may be intended to accomplish, I am starting to feel that you think I am some kind of plaything, that you may toy with my affections and take endless liberties with the good graces I give you, safe in the conceit that I will just sit patiently for you to make your mind up (all the while you knowing full well that you will do no such thing) and wait for you to wave your hand, beckon me, and that I will come bounding along joyfully like a lapdog happy to see its master home.
I wonder what it may mean for me then that you are right?
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
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