At what point do I strike a balance and say that loving you without reciprocation is enough? It makes me feel weak, like an idiot child, and you placate me with expensive gifts when all I want is your undivided love and attention. A better choice might be to let you go, and as a man of short to no response you might not notice I’m even gone. You fill voids with girls and gadgets and I am left shaking at the thought of either lounging in your bed with their new fresh smells and soft buttons. I feel old, which is ironic, I feel old and tired and I think you look at me in the same contexts. I listen to love songs that beg for companions to hold on to a bond, to a love that hangs in a delicate balance and I beg in the same contexts. But you don’t want to hear my begging or my fits, you want smiles and something a little less tortured, when its you who has left me in this twisted tortured state. I want for the happiness we deserve, I want for the happiness we had before your ghosts scared you from your future.