Dear You,
I've been told that you have been reading what I post on this, which I didn't think was possible because I figured you'd forgotten about this. I didn't want you to know how I really felt. It's not fair for you to know how I feel, and for me not to have any clue how you feel.
For me it wasn't over. I've been writing everyday. Sometimes I write pages upon pages about the time we spent together. But then I just delete it all because I need to realize that those are not the same memories you have. You probably have the memories of me getting jealous. Me getting upset because I'd take what you'd say the wrong way. Me wanting to go to bed early and not being fun anymore. Me waking you up too early, and then telling you how grumpy you were. You telling me how much you didn't like it when I pointed that out, and I didn't listen very well, did I? It's too late now, but for what it is worth I am sorry for not listening to you. I'm sorry for the inconsiderate things I would say with out thinking them through. It wasn't fair of me to ask you to be considerate of my feelings, and for me to not be considerate of yours. I really don't remember our fights. To me they weren't important. I glorify the good times, and you most likely glorify the bad. That's what I tell myself at least... to get by. To not expect you to call me. Because really, if you really loved me you would be just as torn, you would have broken down, as I have almost so many times to call you. I come so close, I pick up my phone and then I put it down. I tell myself mean things that I think you are feeling. You moved on because it's over for you. I don't know when it will be over for me. I hope it will soon, because feelings are gross.
Sincerely,
I am trying to move on, I really am.
But then this shit happens.
I've been told that you have been reading what I post on this, which I didn't think was possible because I figured you'd forgotten about this. I didn't want you to know how I really felt. It's not fair for you to know how I feel, and for me not to have any clue how you feel.
For me it wasn't over. I've been writing everyday. Sometimes I write pages upon pages about the time we spent together. But then I just delete it all because I need to realize that those are not the same memories you have. You probably have the memories of me getting jealous. Me getting upset because I'd take what you'd say the wrong way. Me wanting to go to bed early and not being fun anymore. Me waking you up too early, and then telling you how grumpy you were. You telling me how much you didn't like it when I pointed that out, and I didn't listen very well, did I? It's too late now, but for what it is worth I am sorry for not listening to you. I'm sorry for the inconsiderate things I would say with out thinking them through. It wasn't fair of me to ask you to be considerate of my feelings, and for me to not be considerate of yours. I really don't remember our fights. To me they weren't important. I glorify the good times, and you most likely glorify the bad. That's what I tell myself at least... to get by. To not expect you to call me. Because really, if you really loved me you would be just as torn, you would have broken down, as I have almost so many times to call you. I come so close, I pick up my phone and then I put it down. I tell myself mean things that I think you are feeling. You moved on because it's over for you. I don't know when it will be over for me. I hope it will soon, because feelings are gross.
Sincerely,
I am trying to move on, I really am.
But then this shit happens.
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