i think you think too much of me (Matty Healy/George Daniel)

8: a sentimental gay mess

'So I guess I fucked up this time around.

Makes a change, that. Don't you think? Not that everything else is your fault - that's really not what I meant. Just that, you always blame yourself. That you always come and tell me that everything's fucked and that it's all your fault. I guess maybe it's good that it isn't this time around. Makes a change, doesn't it?

Not that- of course, it's not that I think what happened was a good thing. I just... honestly, Matty, I don't know how to properly word this. I don't think I've written a letter in a long time. And maybe this was a weird way to go about things, but I don't know, it felt right.

It was something I used to do, you know? Like a year and a half ago, I had this girlfriend, and we always used to write notes to each other - just little things, but somehow it meant so much more than just sending a text or something. I guess it was the physicality of it, you know? And knowing that someone had gone to the effort to write it out and leave that note for you, that they actually cared that much rather than to just spend ten seconds typing out a text message. It was nice, you know? But then it wasn't.

Of course, we broke up, things went weird in the end. I guess there got to be a point where we faced a dilemma that neatly handwritten apologies couldn't solve. Like, no amount of kisses on the end of letter could fix your heart. Things got bad in the end.

I hope this isn't bad. I hope this is enough. I hope I didn't fuck up that much. I really do hope you'll forgive me. I know, I know I fucked up, and I know you're upset, but it happened, and I'm sorry. I can't erase the past - we both know that, so really all I can do is hope you'll believe just how sorry I am. How much I mean this apology, and I hope the letter helps with that. I hope it was something you were happy to receive - to hear from me again, to hear my explanation.

I hope you didn't look at your name scrawled across the envelope in my handwriting and scowl. But if you did. If you did, I'm not going to ramble on and make you feel guilty for that. Because if you did, you did so with reason, and that's okay. And if you did, then I have no right to demand that you feel another way.

But I can hope. And I'll hope you'll at least read this letter, and maybe even write me back, and even if it's like I just asked for the whole world, I'd like to imagine that you'd understand.

So, that night. I was drunk. You know that. You got me drunk. But it's not your fault. Don't think it's your fault. I don't think it's your fault. I know that you pushed me to, but it wasn't like you poured the vodka down my throat or anything - I took those drinks, and being drunk doesn't take away the fact that you were responsible for everything you did.

But, I was drunk. Like, really drunk. Because I'm a fucking lightweight, and we both know it. And it's not that you don't know what you're doing when you're drunk, you just sort of stop thinking about the consequences, and you do things you wouldn't, because when you're sober you remember to think that you'd hurt someone, so you stop. And I don't know how to handle myself when I'm drunk - we've both figured that out.

And I truly am sorry. For making you feel uncomfortable, because I know I did. For staring. I really didn't mean any harm by it, I really did just think you looked nice, but, like, I couldn't quite work out how to properly express that. I'm sorry. Honestly. I'm sorry for making you feel like I'm taking you for granted or taking advantage of you, because really, that's the last thing I want to do.

But if you think I am. Then I have no right to tell you I'm not. And that's okay. I can hope that you'd change your mind, but if you can't, and if you don't want to, then that's okay.