The way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected:
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Unconnected, unrelated. I have often wondered why I cut out people out of my life. Why once a friendship can become un-related, un-connected. The way I feel hasn´t changed but in the end the way I act is built upon the reasons of my past. I no longer will be drained. I no longer will refrain.
Maybe I am the one still holding on, the one who realizes the disconnection might just as well be the first to find out. You expect me to remain the same, to not change, to be the one you have got to know, without the effort of keeping up with getting to know me.
Maybe connections are limitited, though I thought love is unlimited; unconditional- is draining me. I am preppared to give but not unalateraly, I am prepared to listen, yet I hope for an ear in need, I am prepare to try to understand you, but will not be fed platitues for my pain.
When I am beeing ask, why I haven´t been seen for a while, whos mistake is that? My answer “I didn´t come out because it was dark.” When you think of long winternights, I was speaking about my heart and soul the horizon that is hope, and no longer visiable. Just because I changed my routines I have to explain again and again who I am, what parts are broken and why they are still part of me. Yet I wonder why you would listen the second or third time when you didn´t believe me in the first place.
What comes easy to you might be a challenge for me and vice versa. No longer do I have the energy to feel anger about beeing misunderstood, I gave up on reaching out, trying to connect because of all of these dissapointments. I deserved to be understood. You might think of me as distant an arrogant but what actually happend is that you used up all the goodwill, good intention and love I felt… without watering the plant that was our connection.
We are now rootbound, closed in a deathly circle in a limited space… I untwine, disconnect and unrealte out of choice, I wish to bloom again be with people who appreciate my thorns just as my rare flowers.
When you put acid in your voice, boredome in to your demeanor and only look out for those closest to you, without me being part of this circle… I do no longer feel obligated to use the energy upon you.
I might be a difficult, self-rightous ass… but then you shouldn´t care what I think.
– un-corrected version / mobile submission. work in progress