(no subject)
I pretend I’m angry at you. It feels like everything beneath the surface of my skin is tightly wound together into one powerful source of unidentifiable emotion. I label it as “anger” and my external behaviour reflects that. Adding fuel to the fire, you don’t even know, or care. When you’re not there, I act like I would be strong, or at least tell you how I felt. I would write you out of my life and concentrate on the things that mean something to me, not the things I wish meant something to me. If this is a game you play for yourself, I want to quit. I’m not very good. You win.