I still haven't had the hang of it yet. Rejection I mean. There are two kinds of it. The direct bitter repulsion and the slow but horrible drifting. I have experienced both. Neither is easy but I prefer the direct one. The slice of the knife is fast that at least I can pretend to forget it.
Today I happened to realize that I am going through the second type. He doesn't seem to put effort into our little conversations. I am not the one who waits on the sidewalk. But it just seems unfair to myself to hold off a chance at excitement. The strumming of my heart strings make me float away into some Spanish fairy tale. And with the little talks, sweet nothings, I wonder if its the same man that I have been talking to on the other end of the phone.
I have that hidden side of me too. But she is not a secret or a pretense. She serves to surprise and blow apart every notion that he has about me. He on the other hand only teases me just to leave me begging for more of the lies and less of the truth. Those are the hidden notes that play when the song is too sad to listen to.
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