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The first time you knew me, you ignored me at first. But after the information I offered you via text you listen to me, making a conversation with me, praised me, talked about me, and being happy.
I want to think that you were happy because I want you to be happy.
I asked you, maybe a couple of time, if you were happy. You said you were but only you insist that meeting me would make you happier. I did grant you a possibility to meet me and then you left.
The first time I knew you, it was when I was a mere reader reading a novel and you were the protagonist of that novel.
The novel you were protagonist of was considered shitty in public opinion but it’s only thing that I keep on reading because that novel became only my reason to live. Your life only continued to suffer as much as the novel went on, and my life went on. I think it’s ironic, considering your suffering made me continue my life just a little bit longer.
So, I could read your story and know another you again.
The first time I met you, at first, I felt a little bit of excited when I fell into this ruined world because you could be here and I could meet you.
I met you. You were wary but you seemed like a dick, from outsider perspective. But maybe my deaths make you reconsidered to be - seem to be, less of a dick. You were still an asshole but at least you didn’t want to kill me on purpose if you could.
You only killed me when I forced you to. It was a nice development.
There were a few times I left you. You were angry when you didn’t see me when I left, you were sad when you did see me left unwillingly.
I left you but I met another you.
When you didn’t see me left, it was a you who deemed pathetic, even more unsociable you. So, I wanted you to live. So, I wanted to stay with you.
When you saw me left, it was a you who are very different from the last time I knew this you. So, you were unfamiliar. So, you were unrecognizable as you. So, I wanted to be with more familiar you.
I would like to believe you for you to be you, nonetheless. Because you still suffered, so I wanted you to be happy. I believed you so maybe you could be happier.
The first time you met me, I suddenly appeared in front of you in a middle of empty apocalypse, so you were guarded like you should. Even I was requested to kill you, so that another you won’t suffer from this repeating hell of yours again. But I was selfish, I wanted you to be alive even when this you, a pathetic and unsociable you, wanted to die like an unfamiliar you wanted to.
Until I coaxed you, then you stopped being hostile to me, and possibly, other.
Until I convinced you, then you wanted to live - one of you want to live, just to open a possiblility to be a you who try to survive this ruined world with me alongside you.
So, one of you lived, like you want to. And so, one of you die like you want to.
The last time I meet you, I was in a train, watching you left to be happier. While I stayed there, for the world to continue on.
The last time I knew you. You were new into this ruined world, uncertain by your limitation of life and trying to survive like a normal, maybe lucky, person trying to live to see a new day in apocalyptic world. I offered you my sponsor. Yet I was ignored, kind of in the same way at least one of many you had been ignored by me.
I still don’t hate you especially after every little thing you did to me, and, in turn, I did to you. Compare to that, it’s hard to really hate this you. A new, uncertain, and untouched by an unimaginable hell you.
I want you to be happy, so I considered my other possibility of helping you and offered my words. You started to listen to me, talk to me, and then, wanted to meet me.
I didn’t want you to meet me because you meeting me means your lives would suffer, you forgot ever knowing me, and started to hate me. I told you. You still chose to never ever returning to this fulfilled, happy you just to be a you who ever meet me. You still chose to experience this repeating hell of yours just to be a you who truly know me and a you who lived your life with me. And you left this you to be the you who first knew me.