Things About Ben

Why Does This Always Happen?

Lets get one thing straight here, this post isn't going to be poetic in the slightest. In fact, it's something that belongs in Letters, but I promised myself I wouldn't post about you on there anymore. 

Why do you always do this? 

Why do I always do this?

How come every person I fall in love with is absolutely crazy?

Let's start from here: you're a racist, a sexist, and homophobic. And, as if that weren't bad enough, you're a sociopath. And you have admitted all these things to me and thought I would be okay with it. And now you're texting me, telling me that you're going insane but you won't even tell me why.

You say you have thoughts that will make people hate you. I questioned you, and all you said was that you'll upset me and I'll hate you because of how much I like you.

And, you know, 

I don't even like you that much. 

For months and months I swore I was in love with you. I prayed to God to give you back to me for one final time. I swore that if I had you again, I would hold on tight and never let go until I absolutely had to. 

But...

I just don't know if it was true. If I loved you, or if I loved the memory of us that I still carry from middle school. Do I love you? Or do I love how you make me feel? Do I want you to be mine? Or do I just want the idea of me being yours?

Do you love me? Or do you only want me for the same selfish reasons I'm describing in this post?
I don't know. I'll never know.

But I do know that nothing feels right with you. Even when it does, there's still a part in my brain whispering about how wrong it is, and everyone else is agreeing. My best friends don't like you, you don't like my friends...

I always said that those things would be a deal breaker. That I couldn't date someone who was prejudice in any way, shape, or form. And yet, here I am. Not letting you go. Is that love? If it was, wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I try my best to hold on to it? Wouldn't I be dancing in the streets screaming about the way I feel for my ex-neighbor who is exceptionally possessive of whatever person he calls "his"? Wouldn't I feel....different?

I don't love you. Not even a bit. Maybe I like you. Maybe I like that special feeling I get when you play with my hair and hold my face. Maybe I like being able to call someone mine.

But the funny thing is, you're not even mine--not officially, anyways. You want us to belong to each other, but don't even want to call this a relationship.

And honestly, I can't do this back-and-forth stuff anymore. It's getting too tiring. Every time you appear again, I hope that you've changed. I pray that you're a little bit less crazy than the last time. And at first, you are. You're perfect. You're everything I've ever wanted and needed. But then, you get comfortable. And you let it go. And you're not better, you're worse.

You're my disease and I can't ever seem to go into remission. 

But God, please let me go into remission.