Out of Sync
You needed help; I needed to feel skilled.
You had lost faith that things could be any better. I became your cheerleader and eternal optimist. You called me an angel; but I would argue differently.
You cycled for miles away from illness and responsibility. I drove for miles to absorb the tasks you could nolonger tolerate.
I thought you were kind and unselfish. You thought that I was unusual. With the extra time my help afforded you; you became a social butterfly. Being in groups is not my preference - nor is acting like a groupie.
It was not love-
it was like a poorly played song; out of tune and out of sync.
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