There’s no saving you

Sometimes, I don’t get you at all.
You love the thrill of the chase – getting that job, that girl, that deal.
But once you get what you think you want, you decide you don’t really want it all that much at all. You coast, giving as little as you can get away with or just casting it by the wayside. Just like a child with a new toy. So fickle, so covetous, so easily bored or distracted.
You could be so much more than that. You’re talented, smart and with a mind that can do so much with so little effort. But you’re so not into making an effort, aren’t you? You want instant gratification. You want everything, for next to nothing.
In some ways I’m just as fickle, flighty and allergic to exertion. Which is why, sometimes, I understand that part of the reason you’re where you are is because life has hurt you too much. You’ve dreamed – those dreams were dashed. You’ve loved – to find nothing but betrayal and disappointment.
Though you hurt me so bad, enough that I want to hurt you, I can’t. I don’t know why I care about you, baby. I want you to do more and be more. To live more.  But I can’t save you. I can’t change you. One thing’s life taught me is that the only person I can change is myself.
I can pray for you. I can still care, more than I ought. And why aren’t I just telling you all this, to your face, in a letter, in an email? Because, baby, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you is that you’ve never been good at listening. Especially to words you don’t want to hear.

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