Life.

So fragile.

Humans are selfish.
Life is fragile.
The things that you cry over today won't even be blips on your radar tomorrow.
The things you like now will be long gone and forgotten about in a year.
Just don't die with them.

Maybe...

Maybe not wanting to write isn't such a bad thing.

Maybe I only want to write when I'm upset. I'm only realizing it now.

Hurt me.

What's this? Inspiration?

I respect you too much to tell you what I think of your poor decisions.
But I worry too much to say nothing at all.
I'm thinking you're real, but maybe you're not. So many lies. It's hard to tell what is and what isn't.
I dream about you, fantasize about you.
I pretend I'm him so I could be close to you.
Don't tell me the thing I've spent so long defending is all for nothing.
Please...

Please...

I can't stop crying.
I think maybe this is true love;
to bite back my real opinions on your girlfriend and tell you I'm glad you're happy,
to not tell you how hard I'm crying because,
if I caused you unhappiness for a split second, I think it might just break my heart.

Don't do this to me.
I know you've made piss poor decisions. But I don't want you to be sad or feel bad for them.
Mistakes happen. I won't hate you for it.
You live with them, you learn from them...
That's life.

I'm so over the things that meant so much yesterday.

And now the inspiration is gone. I could force more, but what's the point?

Everything you do starts a chain event. You make someone sad, they make someone they care about sad, that person makes someone else sad. When you think you're upsetting someone, you're upsetting more than one person.

I love you. I love you so much.

I want to say your name on here just so you know who I'm talking to, but I won't. I can't let my secret out. Maybe you're my favorite now.

Maybe.

Maybe you should hurt me so I'll get over you, too.