What is this

You have me sitting on my mattress, thinking of "us." There can't be an "us," its as if we don't deserve to be an "us," not yet.  We can't seem to find each other, even when we play as each other's reflection. I scream, you only catch the echoes. I take a step back, you take two steps forward, only to apologize. You're the only person I've ever wanted to be distant with and still want you to tell me to come closer. The fact that I've gotten as close to you to be open for you to hurt me, hurts. You say you love me, and for that reason I can't love you. I don't believe it. Do I want to believe it? I do, I not only want to believe it, I want to say it, feel it. But if I do, then it becomes true, you make it real, and I'm scared that when I'm ready to accept it, you won't be there.  How can you love me? Love me and still hurt me? Be blind of how you hurt me? Why do I have to explain? Why have I caught myself sighing heavier when I think of you? Why the more I want, the less you give?  How can you act as if I haven't shared everything of me with you? How can you make me feel as if I'm that stranger you pass by everyday? Why can't we find our true feelings in between the silence, in between our sighs? Are we purposely sabotaging "us"? Am I?

You can be silent for two-three days, still I  wonder what you're writing as I'm driving. You can say hello then disappear, still I hold my breathe. I can't. I'm done, still I await for you to say I'm not.