Dear jungle book boy

The waiting and blinder-wearing started one summer in the middle of a jungle, surrounded by killer mosquitos and six o' clock prayer calls. In between pages of thick epic book, I learned to pretend it didn't matter or anything else at all. I learned to pretend that I could by myself manage through the each day -- cooking for one and/or two, an extra two bottles or cans of beer in the fridge just in case, another extra pack of cigarettes for unexpected company, a cool chick playlist to get by with, eggs and bread for when waking up with company and one or two movies to get me through unaccompanied evenings. It was habit I've learned to effortlessly slip into, a coping by with my lonesome. 


That was when I meet you and pretended that didn't matter. Then the afternoons became unbearable until the sun set when it was the time to slip into a make-believe world that I pretended didn't exist just to make the morning after bearable. Sometimes, those afternoons turned into day trips and sleepovers -- a routine that went on for some weeks until I started pretending we were in love just so I didn't have to pretend that it didn't matter or anything else at all. And then those patches of hours in the day became blurry and blurry as the nights slipped into days until we've started exchanging shirts. Then I knew that I have for sure thrown myself into the nasty habit of pretending nothing mattered just so I could learn to cope when this was all over -- pretending that the end was inevitable and that nothing could not be remedied by a playlist to get by with. 


But I was mistaken...


The pretending had ended even before it has properly begun...I've broken my own heart minutes before you broke it -- a preemptive attack I must have unwittingly committed just so I could go on pretending nothing had really ended.