giving up

there are the moments when i see you that i begin to hate myself again. usually when you smile at me, the pauses between the conversation when i stop awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. and you never seem to notice.
i should be over you. you have made it clear, in the one small conversation that we've had, that you do not want me, not like that. so i took the axe and the hammer, smashed whatever feelings i had felt for you, gutted the rest with a knife and when it was over i was left with the sensation of being hollow every time i am near you.
i cannot handle being near you.
not without feeling like i am 17 again, with the scent of fear and uncertainty imprinted along my skin, the face in the mirror expressionless and alien, my need for some one to touch me a shameful secret. you were the first time i was not afraid.
and i refuse to go back to that. and now that i have killed everything i felt about you in the past two years, i find myself wondering if there is anything left to salvage.
i don't believe there is, but i can't bring myself to tell you this. so we keep going in circles, me pretending that we are the same and you, ever oblivious to it all.