beautiful disaster

I cant figure if we're alright or not. You were surprisingly frank that day. Ambiguous as usual, yet upfront.

Perhaps you figured it out long ago but just didnt dare to ask. I wouldnt be surprised, after all, you're always so cautious.

Thinking of things now, i cant help feeling guilty. For the things that i've done and those that i've not. You said you're alright now, but i wasnt there when it happened, instead i took out my frustrations on you during that painful period.

It always ends up like this doesnt it ? Selfish desires, an obligation, almost as if we were close.

Almost as if i still cannot let you go.