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I don't understand what you expect of me.
Just as you might not understand what i expect of you, or if i have expectations at all. I don't. Not really anyway. But the thing i realize is that i cannot be myself in front of you anymore. I have to pretend. I have to act like whatever lame joke you tell is funny. I cannot brandish my own brand of wits because you think it's rude, annoying and very un'lovable'.

That word.

I hate it.

For some reason, you had chosen very wrongly that day. And had hurt my feelings with that one word more than you probably realize. But that's okay, your intentions were good, noble in fact. Still, it would be unnatural for me to not feel the tiniest bit of remorse whenever you speak to me.

Because all i can see now is insincerity spewing from your mouth. Bits of lie, mixed with dutiful but misplaced concern for me.

You once told me straight to my face that i am not a lovable person. Which, when decoded has the same meaning as "i don't love you". But you do, you say.

Ah, that confuses me.

Do you, or do you not?

Maybe you do. But more out of habit, if nothing else.

Since that day, I've tried being impartial in our conversations. Like a third person viewing from outside the loop. But you take offence even in that, in my objective views of our dysfunctional relationship.

I am hurt and confuse, and now so are you.

I guess that makes us even.