Yeah. I keep making excuses for you.
It is something I am good at.
The day you don't need them anymore,
Well that's the day I'll realize that I actually dislike you.

At the end of the day, all I want is to be loved for me.
Simple.

I can't be suprised.
It doesn't work.
I knew you wouldn't bother.
I know you don't care.
I just wish you could see that I want what you want.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.

Happy 22.
Old but so new.
Bad patch.
I hate the way you make me feel.
It's rare but it hurts.
We laugh so much that when we aren't,
I don't know what to say/do.
I don't know what life is without you.
I don't know how to fix things.
I don't know how to act.
I forgot what being a person feels like.
It's easier to pretend I am happy.
It's easier to pretend that I am a person.
No one need see me.
No one need hear me.
I will sit here.
Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

I can be so stupid sometimes.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I know you can't help who you like.
I know you do stupid things for the people you love.
I thought I was better than this.
Text message me through the day.
Talk to me when it matters.
Convienient for you.
Stupid mistakes.
Live through it. Learn from it.
Build, break, build, break, build, break.
It goes on a repeating cycle/circle.
I wish I could fastforward to happy. To future. To the end.

You make me crazy. The only type of crazy that you have the cure for. The type of crazy that would be cured by a hug, a phone call, a kiss, some acknowledgement of my existance, of how much I mean to you. You mean the world to me, already. So fast. I feel like one of those lunatics that everyone whispers about, that person that no one wants to talk to because they're batshit crazy and kind of freaky, yet deep down they are harmless because they just lost something they loved so fucking much that they no longer feel complete. I'm not complete. Every second you're not here, I'm not complete. It feels so weird. People say it's like missing a limb, but I can't say that it is, if you loose your arm you can get used to that shit, like sure, you get the phantom pains and whatever, but you can adjust, you can continue living, this feels like a fucking hole is eating from the inside out, I can't get used to this and I can't even say that I could adjust to this. You make me question everything I've ever said about love, about marriage, about life. You make me want to just make you happy, and that would mean that I would do anything, almost anything. I have limits and I think I am reaching mine. I'm going crazy. Batshit, insane person, crazy. It's not fun. And all of it is because I miss you.