I don’t know what to think about today. I’m not sure what to do about this uneasy questioning that lingers throughout my mind. Things used to be so simple. Things were so easy between us. I don’t know what changed within you. I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know why I never seem to really be good enough or enough for you or anyone, really. I thought this time was different. You seemed different. I felt different. I wish I could let you go. I wish I could learn to let you go. I wish I wanted to let you go. As many times as you fuck me over, As many times you tell me it’s done, I can’t help but hold out some hope. Because I feel like there’s something between us that is different. I guess I just miss you. I miss having someone’s hand to hold. I miss having someone to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay. I miss looking into your eyes and seeing hope within them. For some reason I can’t help but disbelieve your reasons. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else, someone else, or you’re just scared. I’ve tried being angry at you- that never happens. I’ve been upset- that lasts the longest. I just don’t really understand. I’m left in a state of questioning.
I feel like if you have a roommate, you should take into consideration that they probably don’t want to hear you and your boyfriend having sex. Or early in the morning, yelling at your dog. Or, sometimes the reason you have a bedroom with a door is so you can do whatever you want to. Not always lying on the couch with him making out, so if your roommate wants to make him or herself breakfast, they don’t feel uncomfortable because you guys are always out there kissing and cuddling and being annoying. Or using that god awful high pitched voice that you think is cute, but is honestly annoying as fuck. You have a bedroom for a reason. Fucking use it, goddammit. I am practically never home, and the times I am, I’m annoyed because I have your awful relationship pushed in my face. I’m so done with you. Please. Move. Out. You have absolutely no respect for me, at all. And I’m on my last fucking straw.