In retrospect, that one-hour long conversation I had on the phone with D made me realise that maybe I should adapt to be more taciturn and sparing in this relationship because what I was feeling was far overwhelming and consuming our love. Sensitive, I faced the constant struggle of rationalising that you were wrong and the seething urge to make you learn; teaching you how to love me. I guess I was wrong. These emotions are just too big for you to handle; they fill up the room, expanding and suffocating and pressing against all the corners. Alas, I know that you would grow tired of my constant paraxysms of fury, the need to be pacified and validated. So keeping mum would be good wouldn't it. My feelings of anger and hatred are unhealthy, afterall.
You feel too much, but you bottle it all up; hidden words compounded in a deep labyrinthine till you feel compressed with every unsaid string of sentence. But you just can't share; every other sentence would be fuelled by some backdrop of sorrow contempt, envy, some element of you trying to get out for some notice; and people would be sick of you.