I tell myself that everything might work out okay. There's a chance, if I can just get her to see. Every so often, though, I'll be doing something and I'll think about it. The knot that forms in my stomach is unpleasant, but really, I'd rather be going through this than nothing at all.
It's rare that I'm this determined about something.
It's rare that I'm this determined about something.
I'll be canceling my account for a short time. Well, I hope it'll be short, anyway. I need a new job and things like this here will have to fall by the wayside until I can find decent employment. Money's running dry, but I don't have to fully support myself just yet. We'll see how things go.
I suppose that I understand, after all, why you feel the way you do. You told me time and again that it was okay, but you were never truly ready for how close I become with my friends. The texting, calling, nicknames, and weird, irrelevant messages are all normal for me. They weren't normal for you, however, and I was never able to see that. Perhaps I should have taken your silence as a sign that you were uncomfortable, but you would always tell me that you weren't, and I mistakenly assumed that things would stay the same once you left for college. I should've have stopped and thought about it, but I never did.
It's strange, really. When I heard that you were leaving, my biggest fear was never being able to talk to you again. Just being around you made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I loved to hear you laugh and see you smile. I loved the sound of your voice and I loved you. You weren't interested in me, however, which was a painful revelation, but it's nothing that I can't handle. Being friends with you and being a part of your life was all I needed. I wanted to call you at the end of a long day and talk about how things have been. I wanted to make you laugh when you were angry or cheer you up when you were sad. The thought of you leaving forever and disappearing out of sight was devastating.
I was mostly afraid of someone hurting you. I'm always worried about bizarre things like that, whenever I'm not around someone. I suppose it's because they'll be wounded, helpless, and I won't be able to see them, perhaps for the last time, when they need support the most. I was afraid that I'd lose you forever and you'd never think of me again, be it by your choice or someone else's. If anyone had so much as spooked you by stalking after you on the dark sidewalk near your house, I had long come to terms with the fact that I would have faced anything, no matter what the consequence, to see that they were never able to upset you again.
How odd, then, that I became that person. To realize that I, of all people, scared and pissed off both you and your friends by simply being myself is a pain that's going to dig grooves in the pit of my stomach until I'm finally lowered into my grave. Whenever I think about it, my eyes start to burn and I get a knot in my throat. The reality of this burns deep and hot. I feel like my hopes and dreams of being your friend, with you until the sun burns out, are being cauterized and seared away.
I never wanted things to spiral this far out of control, so far beyond my grasp. If only I could talk to you, if you would listen, if I could try and get you to understand and you could tell me how you feel, over the phone, for the first time since I met you.
At this point, however, I can't imagine what any of this would accomplish. Dropping this and turning away is like ripping my heart out of my chest, all over again, but I've done enough to hurt you. I'll never forgive myself for this. I wonder if the cruel part of your mind, which lives in all of us, is smiling at my torment. Mine is. For as long as I live, it will ensure that I never forget about ruining this.
"I'm sorry" is never going to be enough.
It's strange, really. When I heard that you were leaving, my biggest fear was never being able to talk to you again. Just being around you made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I loved to hear you laugh and see you smile. I loved the sound of your voice and I loved you. You weren't interested in me, however, which was a painful revelation, but it's nothing that I can't handle. Being friends with you and being a part of your life was all I needed. I wanted to call you at the end of a long day and talk about how things have been. I wanted to make you laugh when you were angry or cheer you up when you were sad. The thought of you leaving forever and disappearing out of sight was devastating.
I was mostly afraid of someone hurting you. I'm always worried about bizarre things like that, whenever I'm not around someone. I suppose it's because they'll be wounded, helpless, and I won't be able to see them, perhaps for the last time, when they need support the most. I was afraid that I'd lose you forever and you'd never think of me again, be it by your choice or someone else's. If anyone had so much as spooked you by stalking after you on the dark sidewalk near your house, I had long come to terms with the fact that I would have faced anything, no matter what the consequence, to see that they were never able to upset you again.
How odd, then, that I became that person. To realize that I, of all people, scared and pissed off both you and your friends by simply being myself is a pain that's going to dig grooves in the pit of my stomach until I'm finally lowered into my grave. Whenever I think about it, my eyes start to burn and I get a knot in my throat. The reality of this burns deep and hot. I feel like my hopes and dreams of being your friend, with you until the sun burns out, are being cauterized and seared away.
I never wanted things to spiral this far out of control, so far beyond my grasp. If only I could talk to you, if you would listen, if I could try and get you to understand and you could tell me how you feel, over the phone, for the first time since I met you.
At this point, however, I can't imagine what any of this would accomplish. Dropping this and turning away is like ripping my heart out of my chest, all over again, but I've done enough to hurt you. I'll never forgive myself for this. I wonder if the cruel part of your mind, which lives in all of us, is smiling at my torment. Mine is. For as long as I live, it will ensure that I never forget about ruining this.
"I'm sorry" is never going to be enough.
"theres nothing fucking wrong with me but im not your fucking girlfriend"
I know. I've told you this time and again that I know. I understand. I don't want anything else but to be friends with you, just friends, only friends, just like we were before you left this city. I can't get you to understand that, though, no matter how many times I say it.
So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I thought about you almost every day. I'm sorry that I worried. I'm sorry that I called and texted you so much. I'm sorry that I dreamed about you. I'm sorry that I smiled when I watched an episode of ATHF or heard a bit of your favorite Linkin Park song, because both of these things reminded me of you. I'm sorry that I felt better any time you texted me or answered one of my calls. I'm sorry that I'm shedding tears thinking about how much my life would be so much brighter if you would simply listen to me and understand.
I'm sorry about scaring you or making you upset. I'm sorry about pissing you off with what I've been doing. I'm sorry about looking forward to hugging you at the end of a long day and telling you good night. I'm sorry about calling you nicknames, like I do with all of my friends, and making it seem like I was some sort of delusional freak. I'm sorry about loving you and thinking that you're beautiful. I'm sorry for hoping that you turn out to be a successful woman and perhaps even an outstanding mother. I'm sorry for standing here, with my heart in my throat, making a fool out of myself.
I'm sorry for telling you goodbye. And I'm sorry for all the things left unsaid.
I know. I've told you this time and again that I know. I understand. I don't want anything else but to be friends with you, just friends, only friends, just like we were before you left this city. I can't get you to understand that, though, no matter how many times I say it.
So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I thought about you almost every day. I'm sorry that I worried. I'm sorry that I called and texted you so much. I'm sorry that I dreamed about you. I'm sorry that I smiled when I watched an episode of ATHF or heard a bit of your favorite Linkin Park song, because both of these things reminded me of you. I'm sorry that I felt better any time you texted me or answered one of my calls. I'm sorry that I'm shedding tears thinking about how much my life would be so much brighter if you would simply listen to me and understand.
I'm sorry about scaring you or making you upset. I'm sorry about pissing you off with what I've been doing. I'm sorry about looking forward to hugging you at the end of a long day and telling you good night. I'm sorry about calling you nicknames, like I do with all of my friends, and making it seem like I was some sort of delusional freak. I'm sorry about loving you and thinking that you're beautiful. I'm sorry for hoping that you turn out to be a successful woman and perhaps even an outstanding mother. I'm sorry for standing here, with my heart in my throat, making a fool out of myself.
I'm sorry for telling you goodbye. And I'm sorry for all the things left unsaid.
