Everything you’ve been doing lately makes me feel like you’re pushing me to leave. From the lack of any warmth in your expression, ever, to the way you keep closing your eyes when I talk to you, turning away like you’re slamming twin doors in my face when I’m only trying to kiss you hello. Each glare and each cold shoulder is starting to add up, and I’m starting to believe you’re taking the coward’s way out, treating me badly so I’ll be the one to break it off. The thing is, I’m sure it’ll cycle toward your fear of abandonment, and you’ll regret your impulsive reactions, any day now.
I mean, you can’t just expect me to decide it’s all over, myself, right? Besides, I believe that if I walk out that door on you, I’ll do it faster than you can call my name. I believe that if I leave you, I’ll be gone so fast, you won’t have the chance to ask me to stop, and come back. I know that if I’m the one to stop talking first, you’ll be left hanging, miserable and alone, and honestly, I’m just trying to keep you happy.
You don’t actually want me to break up with you — where would you go? What would you do? Who would love you like I do? Who would bring you buttered toast in the morning? Who would feed it to you?
So let’s just quit this silly back and forth; I’m going to bring you your breakfast, but you have to promise to stop spitting at me and screaming for me to undo the ropes, okay?