I doubt you'll ever know how much it hurts that you hate me. You'll probably never know how hard it was to utter those two words - I'm sorry - out loud and actually mean them, or how much it hurts when you wouldn't even read the apology letter I wrote for you. Maybe you'll never understand how hard it is to feel like I'm supposed to hate you but then for me to see you and just want to keep you safe. But I guess I didn't do a very good job of that, did I? I didn't even know what was going on in that house until I heard through the grapevine of friend groups not quite separating. I wish you'd told me. I wish you'd told me I was hurting you, that I was being a bad friend. You were so kind to me, let me vent constantly, all while hiding your own pain. Was it my fault you felt like you couldn't tell me?
You may not have seen it, but you really did make me a better person than I was when I met you. I know that, mentally, I was in a much better spot once we became friends. Thank you, and I'm so, so sorry for any damage I did to you.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Shit
Não FicçãoJust 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)
