Being indifferent doesn't sound so bad. I know. All the poets in the history of the world would disagree and say they'd rather die in agony than simply not feel.
But I wonder: is it really so terrible? I can only speculate on the easy life of not eagerly anticipating every moment with her, but I can see the upside of having no more disappointments every time I realize she's not there.
That's a nice goal, I guess, trying not to care. Maybe if I tell myself that enough, then I'll make it happen. It's all in the mind.
I just don't wanna care if we meet again soon or not. I don't want to wonder what's she doing or who is she doing it with.
I specially don't wanna wonder if she cares about me, as much as I care about her now.
It's all pain and no reward. It's a pointless exercise in masochism, and I've had enough.
So, poets of the world I tell you this: I've chosen the other way. Keep writing about love, about pain, about caring and feeling, about the joy and the sorrow... just know that I won't be among your ranks this time.
It is now my conscious choice to make it all one big, fat... whatever.
*sí, es un juego de palabras intencional