The value of concern

Against my better judgement, against the constant reminder red ribbon on my wrist, I talked to him. I don't know why I bother because the response is never what I want. I keep doing the same thing, beating a dead horse through conversation, expecting a different result. The very definition of insanity! I suppose it's because it's him. Every moment of every day, I miss him. I can't accept that he isn't (or won't be) part of my life because then the pain would be real. Denial allows me to wake up in the morning and look forward to the day. But the verbal diarrhea I have when I'm around him has got to stop! 

I told him I wished we didn't work together -- that not seeing each other would help me function. He told me that he is fine, he will be fine, but that he feels sorry for me. He regrets that our work environment isn't happy and jovial like it use to be. I felt the earth shift and the blood drain out of my face. How could he say that when he's the one who put me in this position? I have no where else to go and no one else to talk to. I stared at him for a moment and then said, "Don't tell me you feel sorry for me. I don't appreciate that." He threw his hands in the air and stormed out of the room. "Fine," he yelled, "I won't."