Oct 01, 2010 23:39
I used to really love talking to you.
But now, it seems like the only thing you want to talk to me about is you. And only you. Your problems, your sadness, your troubles that take up an entire box of text. It's never about us anymore.
It wouldn't hurt for you to message me first once in a while. Ask me how my day was instead of me starting every conversation with a hopeful heart, only to be shot down from your unresponsive replies.
Let me tell you about the discovery of my neighbour's new calico cat that ducked into my backyard a few days back, staring up at me with wide, golden-yellow eyes. Let me explain to you all the beautiful shades of the sky I saw on my way to school this morning, a mixture of cotton candy pink and a blue as deep as the ocean, that faded into a silvery emerald green. Let me tell you about my day, and how much I miss you, and why we have to be so close yet so far apart.
Is it selfish of me, to wish you acted more like your part? To wish that you could be an older brother that actually cared?
I hope you never see this.
fml