(no subject)
I remember forgiving you for high school, for after it, for never really seeing what was in front of you. I remember how simple forgiving you felt and how easy it was to fall for you again. I remember Harrison and creepy love letters and sexy love letters and regular love letters and Whistler and conversations to die for and counting crows and kissing you and making love to you …and fucking you and trusting you and running away to Europe and not meeting a single person in that time that I wanted more than I wanted you. I could blame this completely on myself. I could make a list, write a letter to myself, all the things I screwed up. How I pushed you away, how I started fights, how selfish I was. I could blame this all on me, and I have been. I could try to fix this I could drive to your house I could knock on your door but I can’t because I’m not who you want me to be. So I hate that I loved you and that I still do and that that wasn’t and isn’t enough. And I hate myself right now. A lot.