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I always see the disapproving looks and the disassocation that comes with you.
I see them, and then I see the rest, speaking for a moment of exhileration, with shifty eyes on the look-out, as if judgement will impale them at any moment.
And I wonder if I do it for the same reasons.
For the feeling of being physically protected, an illusion of the brother bear figure and coming out of it with a slight ego boost.
I wonder if all those times at ungodly hours of the night meant the same to me as it did to you. I wonder if I was just pretending I was needed or if it just so happened that I was the first one in your Call History. (Our moments always seem like they're picked at random.)
If amongst all the lies and tall tales, even a grain of truth came out of it.
I would like to believe there's a little, some or a lot of good in the bad.
I wonder if I really am your last life line, as they say - the last person who's more relieved at your comings than your goings.
That's something I'll never be able to say out loud, because then there's too much pressure.
I wonder if healing will actually come out of this.
Or if it's just you living it up and me trying too hard to love.
And all of this is just replaying like a broken record.