You scared me. You really did. And I tried to tell you, to show you - you listened, but you were always unable to have a conversation. So you never gave me any feedback, and the few words that did come out of your mouth never felt reliable.

I was terrified. You had insisted I clung to you, but then you remained silent and walked away. I had no idea the distance you'd go, and when I asked, you'd lie. I felt you slipping away, and it would've been okay - except I knew I couldn't possibly survive if one more person was to turn against me.

I thought I'd settle for pretending, once more. I drifted away.
Until I saw you wave in the distance, and I got it: I'm not the person I was before, and you know - and you're not who you used to be either.

You've been looking for a new basis on which to move on.

You should have told me.
You should know I can bear it all as long as I know where I stand.