do not pretend.

i do not tell you that i am made of steel, always.  i have been made of it all, from metals to gossamer, depending on the day, the year, the specifics.  i did not lie about what i was.  i may have asked for your attentions, but i did not deceive you.

i suppose no one handles those awkward things well.  i suppose the perfect response is unattainable.  but i can surely tell you, from this other end, how the imperfect response stings.

i did not want your falsity.  no one wants your falsity.  your affection is not so greatly desired that you must give it in fear of what might happen if you don’t.  no one is going to fall on their self-made funeral pyre because you chose to go in another direction.  but no, i do not think this is the result of an undeserved and self assigned pedestal.

i think it was an accident.

that said, i no longer desire your thready attention.  i have always said, with force, that i want it real or i don’t want it it all.  the day of reckoning might be on its way for that bit of boldness.  but no, i don’t want it at all.

cut the cord.