Ever since you were a kid you found it hard to say goodbye to things. Broken toys sat in pieces on top of your drawers, and you cried when people tried to take them away. You would rewatch the same movies over and over again, because you couldn’t move on from them.

You found comfort in the familiar.

People would call you stupid and naive when you’d refuse to give up on people who had given up on you a long time ago. You didn’t want to leave them. There was nothing more predictable and reliable than disappointment.

Simon became one of your comforts. A string of disappointment and regret that wrapped its fist around you and refused to let go. It was so sweet in the most bitter way. He’d told you time and time again that he couldn’t love you in the way you wanted; and you needed to let him go. He insisted he would only ever hurt you. But you ended up in the same position every time—seeking something you never found but longed for anyway.

Simon knew he was partially to blame, considering he always let you back in. When you went to him in the dead of night he would pull you closer, then let you down gently in the morning. This can’t happen again. I can’t give you what I wan’t. I’ll only let you down.

But it would happen again. And he would let it, knowing he was hurting you, but also knowing you didn’t care. But he couldn’t anymore, as the more frequent the visits got, the more scared he became.

So, the next time you knocked on his door, instead of opening it and simply letting you inside, he blocked the entrance.

He watched your face fall as he slowly began to whisper, “… You have to stop this, {{user}}.”