act of self-destruction

You told me you emailed a mate tonight, so in a state of boredom and curiosity I thought I'd look through your email to see whether you'd written anything about me. Nothing in your mail, so I looked through your Facebook inbox instead. Turns out there was no mention of me, so nothing interesting to report. Then I noticed you'd replied to another message thread. You called her 'cutie'. I was fairly surprised; I didn't think you'd give such an endearing term to any other girl. And you talked about your last few weeks, and you mentioned the house for a whole paragraph before you mentioned me, like I was only secondary, and then you made it sound like the time we spent together was civil, as though we weren't falling for each other again. Perhaps I was mistaken about the way you felt. Because I was definitely falling for you. Harder than I've ever fallen before. And then you mentioned that you much prefer Melbourne over Sydney, and how you want to live there. I don't know why reading that makes me upset and annoyed, but it did. I'm in love with you, I can't deny that. I've stopped my unruly ways, I've stopped trying to catch up with other guys on one-on-one terms, even though there's never really been any ill intent behind those catch-ups. I'm happy to share everything with you, but I feel like you're still hiding things from me. People. Emotions. Intent.

Here is my heart. It beats for you. More than ever.

I shouldn't have done it. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all. Feeling remorseful, I shared my key with you, so that you could read my emails, peruse my Facebook. But I did it again. I'm just curious to know more about you, in every possible way. I don't mean any harm with what I do, I'm just naturally inquisitive. You gave me the key, and I unlocked my Pandora's box, and filled my world of love with dark clouds of confusion, and anger, and pain. This was my act of self-destruction. Only you can save me now..