Obsessed? No. The very notion still repulses . I am not so base creature driven by instinct. Possessive? A tiny bit, perhaps. A logical desire to maintain what I consider… significant. But obsession? That is animalistic. And the sheer destructive potential should I ever truly succumb to such an irrational state… the thought is chilling.
Yet… these antiquated texts, relics of a bygone era in this intellectual purgatory… they speak of tendencies. A proclivity for possessiveness, for obsessive behaviors directed towards… significant others. Individuals of my nature.
Blast.
Could this persistent preoccupation, this relentless ache of absence, this possessive fury at any perceived threat to his mory… could it be sothing more than re strategic attachnt? Could it be… that revolting, animalistic urge I so despise? The thought is abhorrent.
Eight weeks. An eternity in this sterile silence. Eight weeks of my letter unanswered. Eight weeks of his physical absence, a gaping void in the already desolate landscape of my existence.
He did not respond. He did not co.
The logical explanations, once readily available, are now flimsy. Hurt? Ti? Processing? They ring hollow against the reality of his continued absence.
Did he not… miss ? While I… miss him this much?
The possibility… the unwelco possibility… that my feelings are not reciprocated, that my absence is not felt with the sa agonizing intensity… it is a disquieting revelation. A fundantal flaw in my calculations. A terrifying imbalance in the equation I thought I understood.
The silence from him… it is no longer just a void. It is a potential answer.
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Divorce papers. No. It doesn't align with the mory of his unwavering persistence. He wouldn't sever the connection with such cold efficiency. Not without one final attempt. One last plea for understanding.
Yes. That resonates. That stubborn refusal to simply let go. That relentless pursuit of… comprehension. "Why, Levi? Why?" I can almost hear the weary frustration in his voice, the underlying ache of betrayal.
He would need to see it for himself, to witness the reality of my current state, to grapple with the chasm that has grown between us. He would need to look into the void and try, one last ti, to find a flicker of sothing he once believed was there.
Illogical. Utterly and consistently illogical. Seven years. Seven years of self-imposed exile from his own family, a chasm of silence he steadfastly refuses to bridge. Yet, he poured his energy, his infuriatingly persistent empathy, into nding the fractured bonds with my family. My… monstrous family. The very people I tolerate out of a sense of obligation.
Why? Why expend such effort on those vipers when his own kin remain estranged? It defies all rational explanation. Is it that damned empathy again? That relentless need to heal, to connect, even when the recipients are demonstrably unworthy? Or is it… sothing even more insidious?
Did he see so flicker of potential goodness in them that I, with my more… realistic assessnt, have long since dismissed? Or was it simply an extension of his… devotion to ? An attempt to integrate himself into my world, regardless of the inherent toxicity?
It is illogical. And yet… it is undeniably, frustratingly… him. This baffling, contradictory creature I… miss.
My Pulla. My rabbit. Did he abandon ? Again?
Three months. The first ti. An eternity of silence that stretched the fragile threads of our connection to their breaking point. And now… two months. Already two months of this agonizing void.
The ti spent apart is now longer than the ti we were actually together. The brief period of… connection… is being dwarfed by this ever-growing expanse of silence and absence.
Is this a pattern? A repetition of a painful cycle? His inherent need for… space? Or sothing more final? A deliberate severing of the fragile bond we forged?
The logical part of my mind screams that this is irrational, that emotional responses based on experiences are illogical. But beneath that cold facade, a raw fear takes root. The fear of being… abandoned. Again.
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