It's not you, it's me

Why am I always the one insecure? What is it about me that screams loneliness, non-commitment, absence?
I rested my hand on your shoulder as I looked deeply into your soul. My polished smile hid these thoughts beautifully, a skill I’ve been mastering for years now. In front of me, your trembling steps caused a slightly awkward dance amidst ourselves, but I know that you think we’re at a comfortable enough place in our relationship now that this is something we laugh about rather than awkwardly smile away. I would, but not for me. It feels like you’re fully invested in me, and even if you’re not—or if things don’t end up as planned—you simply sign off and wander over to the next one. While I’m simply dancing alone right here, wondering where you went while I’m the one that sent you off. I’m the one that showed you the door, I’m the one that broke my heart. It’s always me. ALWAYS FUCKING ME.
I smile politely as I notice your gaze expressing some sort of emotional emptiness. That’s you. And I wish that life was easy like that. Well, I suppose it could be. I just wish—I just wish that I were you in that sense. That my impending future wouldn’t always be hanging over me like a doubting, devilish shadow. Like the imp on my shoulder, whispering words of flames of whatever could happen, but never about what will happen. I wish that life was easier than consequences, yet here I am. I’m dancing with you, but my thoughts wander to every corner of my mind except to you yourself. Because all I think about is actually just me.