Our conversations are slowly fizzling out. I wonder how long until they’re gone completely, until you stop calling and I stop anticipating your messages—the ones we’re taking longer and longer to send each other. I’m afraid of venting to you. I’m afraid of coming off as clingy because I don’t know where I stand with you. Even now—after all this time—I can’t quite seem to figure out if I’m just another option or if you genuinely love me. Sometimes the way you talk makes it seem like you do, but my mind keeps reminding me of those other lines you’ve dropped—you’re not interested in anyone, you’ve never liked anyone enough to go after them—of course I’m included in that, right? I suppose those words answer my dilemma. I think it was my own mind’s denial.
Yet I still find myself clinging to some third rate bit of hope because your words make it seem as though you care for me so damn much—so much more than a friend—and I don’t know what to believe anymore. My own damn head’s a battleground. I miss you. I wish I could see you. Maybe then I’ll be able to figure you out more. If I could look into your eyes while you spoke those things… I want to see if I could find the same love I see in my head.
The one I see in the mirror every damn day.
If they haven’t said it, then it isn’t true.
So get it out of your fucking head. You don’t need someone to help fuck you up. I’d say you’re doing a pretty spectacular job all on your own. A+ worthy.