Thanks for being material

I'd rather not. I'm sorry, but I'd rather not.

You had no idea. The last thing I need to equip myself with is a concoction of foul emotions lingering beneath my happy exterior. But of course you had no clue. How does it feel to penetrate through me, re-building trust I've been seeking, and then leaving it to gradually etch in my soul automatically? With every hope you give me, you leave me wondering whether they were all worthy of another exhausting lap of opening myself up again. How can you possibly dash your way out through the waters when you are only halfway through the sea? How can you pretend to be asleep when all this while you've been furiously walking against the friction? So what am I now?

I feel so used. I'm sorry, but I'd rather not break the four walls around me again. I daren't.