troubled

day twenty one

Jane

{Dear you,

This is what is confusing me.

You said we could be friends, but even friends still talk to each other. You told me you have nothing to say to me anymore.

And fuck, it hurts.

Tomorrow I'll  approach you. But if I see that there is no effort, I'll say goodbye for good.

I know you don't care, 

or at least you act very well like you don't. 

But I care.

I can't stop caring about you that easy but I can't keep killing myself over this.

Too much overthinking.

Too many minutes wasted.

If you don't like me anymore, tell me.

If I should give up, tell me.

So I stop killing myself inside trying to figure it out.

I recall you saying:

That's what you don't fucking understand, I fucking care about you. Like fuck, how can I get it through your head?

What happened to that?

Why you stop caring? 

Are you giving me space? 

Why are you doing this?

I need to know.

I just want an answer from you.

Is that too much to ask?

Jane}