dear steven

[vivalafatbam]

I miss you right now. I say right now because I usually don't. I've found someone who makes me truly happy. And you were never that person. But god damn it. When I think about you killing yourself, it makes me feel like I'm supposed to die too. Oh my god Steven. I loved you so much. I devoted myself to you for 4 years of my pathetic life. That's a fifth of my life that you owned and used and wasted. And a fifth that I'll never get back. And a fifth that I spent crying over you, and worrying about you, and freaking out when you came over, and wondering if you loved me back. And you didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You didn't ever love me back. I fucking hate you. I wasted precious life and love on you. And now you're gone. I will never get to move the hair from your eyes again, or feel your fingers on my sides again, or beg you to stop tickling me. Or look up at you from my back on your bed and see those eyes looking down at me, with that half slant, where I can't really tell if you're looking at me, or the space above my head, and if you're smiling or thinking about what you'd like to do afterward. Not to say that we had sex, or didn't. (We didn't, thank god.) But when we kissed, I felt love. I felt like I would give my life for you, and I would do anything to keep you alive. And I remember that summer when we spent every day together, and that ring of strawberry smoke was always around our heads. I loved you, and everything you were, are, would be. But that's not really the case anymore, because I'm not sure if you're alive. I didn't love what you were for the last months I knew you, before I moved. Before her abortion. Before Detroit.

Long story short, I miss you Blueberry.