You told me that I needed to open up. That I needed to talk to someone. And when I said I didn't trust some random person to talk to, you offered your perfect ears to listen with, without hesitation. But the problem with that was you should've hesitated. You shouldn't have offered, or even brought it up. Because as soon as I decided to open up to you, you got sick of me bringing up my feelings and thoughts that weren't happy and joyful. The thoughts that happen at three in the morning that you shouldn't share with others. So you eventually told me my feelings weren't valid for someone like me. How I'm not entitled to my problems and to feel the way I do. And instead of cutting you out of my life for saying these hurtful things, I called you crying and apologizing for saying how I feel. For doing what you asked. For opening up. I told you I would do better. But in fact, as ironic as it is, I'm doing so much worse. Not that you would know, or that I'd ever tell you again. So instead I'll put my feelings on here, where no one will tell me my feelings are wrong. And when I'm with you, I will stuff them away and plaster that fake smile on that you hate so much. And I will do that because I'd rather be dead inside than lose you, as sick as that is.
