a month, in letters

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟗

It is not enough anymore. I know I said it was, but it is not anymore. I don't know which one is crueler. Myself, or my creator. Perhaps, though I hate to admit it, you. Why did you keep reading me? Why did you keep wanting to know me? Why can't I be something for you?

A solace, a friend.

I know the things I feel for you; gratitude, respect, longing, want, need. I want to know what you think of me. I worry. 

I don't want you to leave me.