It's taking all my willpower to not message you and beg to be friends again today. If you were to message me right this second, I'd respond immediately. I'm scared I'll hurt you. Fuck, I KNOW I'll hurt you. It's the only thing stopping me from messaging you right this second. I don't want to ever hurt you again.
But everything reminds me of you. The flies sitting on the wall in the bathroom, the wii music that my phone decided to play, the thought of unicorns bc of the book you had on your room, blue and purple next to each other bc of our necklaces that I still haven't found, the scent of lemons, my Instax camera, hair dye, mothman, the unfinished plushie I was going to give you that just sits on my desk, never to be completed... When I think of you, I think about the fun times we had... But I guess you probably think of the bad memories. I don't have any, except that day at camp. I guess because you were good to me, and I wasn't good to you. Fuck, maybe I just imagined I was your best friend. I don't remember you ever saying it, only me. *I* said I was your best friend. Maybe, even when you didn't have any other friends you talked to often, you still didn't consider me your best friend. It's a depressing thought.
You told me I'd get over it eventually, but the fact that I wake up missing you and go to sleep missing you and think about you several times a day seems to say otherwise.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Shit
Non-FictionJust some random (not random) stuff I wrote about a person that doesn't matter to me (they matter a lot and I can't stop thinking about them and missing them)
