“You don’t get to say that.”
Please. Do elaborate on what I do not get to say.
I am genuinely asking.
Do I not get to say that there are days when I feel like I am screaming at a thick, frosted, glass wall, acting the fool, hoping I am understood through the pane?
Do I not get to say that I had expectations, ones you never bothered to know of, take care of, to think of?
Do I not get to say that I am tired of handing you chances?
Do I not get to say that I am tired of waiting, tired of wanting for you to take them? That I trusted that you would?
Do I not get to say that I should have realised how futile my attempts are? That I should have listened to what the others told me? That I should have just taken a hint and given up?
Do I not get to say that I wanted to just. give. up. But there was a voice in my head saying, thinking, imagining “oh, they’ll come around”.
“Oh, they’re just busy.”
“Oh, they have a lot to do.”
Do I not get to say how tired I am of making excuses, of justifying your apathy and heartlessness to myself?
Do I not get to feel like I’ve been stabbed both at the back, when you said nothing, and at the front, when you did?
Do I not get to say that it hurts?
Because it does.
You don’t get to decide that it doesn’t.
You don’t get to say that.