I think love

... if it ever was, is over now. It doesn't make sense, but it never did, did it? But I'm lying, first of all, to myself, because it seems absolutely hopeless, and because I don't want it to be over. The feeling, not the failure. That one's hard to accept. And therefore I want it to be over.

But I can't pretend, and I can't do so, especially to myself. I'm still checking on him, like when he's at his place. And if I can hear his voice from the kitchen, I can hardly hold myself back from running out there just to see him.

Instead I'm trying to focus on work, joking the empty moments away with my colleagues, be a part of reality. And it goes alright, though they can notice it on me that I'm very tired, and I'm not the same as I used to be.

It's because there's a terrible void inside me, opened up by something that could only be filled with the same thing. But it does not happen, and will it ever now?

I had to use an excuse, any kind, to distance myself from him. Sociopath sounded interesting mostly because it very much matched his personality, as much as I know of him from experience. The stary, hypnotizing eyes often with no emotions in them, and some strange stuff he did. Also the initial overwhelming kindness and attention, the kind gestures, and then a sudden loss of interest as I was shying away.

Maybe he is a sociopath, and maybe he's not. It doesn't matter because that's not the problem. It's that I can't accept the fact, had he also been interested, he would've quite certainly given a sign by now. I've invited him by being so endlessly lonely, I believe. I was a very easy target. But what can he do with all this, if he's not into me? Play around, I guess.  Does this mean I'm too proud to take a rejection for no real offer?

Instead of being humble and realistic by myself, do I really want to be humiliated by him so that I could finally wake up? I still wonder if it would help at all. Or would I dream on, and how long. I hope I'll soon look back on this, and laugh. Sounds all so pitiful.