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out of all the flowers, you picked me

this is so hard.
and if i could write anything poetic at this moment, i would try to explain to you why. why my heart can't take this. and why i hang up the phone, every fucking time, with tears filling up my eyes.
but i stay strong, because i don't want you to hear them falling to the floor, and splashing. every drop another little reminder of my own miserable world i'm beginning to construct. but i leave them there, so hopefully they will form a big enough puddle to drown myself in. or and ocean, so i can swim away, to you.
i'm not sure which one i would prefer these days.
they all told me to expect this. that the latter months would be the hardest to take. because 8 months down, 4 to go sounds like a dream. but it feels like a fucking nightmare.
and he's changing.
and i'm changing.
and i can't tell if i'm messier than this whole god damn situation anymore.
i'm selfish. but i won't apologize for feeling like i want my fucking boyfriend, my fucking best friend back. the same one who used to lay with me, night after night. the boy who used to kiss my forehead in the middle of the night, and i would pretend i didn't even notice. but i would, and i smiled, it was just too dark to sleep. i want him, him who confessed that nothing made him stronget than i did. i won't ever apologize for missing him.
and it's not that. i mean, that's not where it ends. its a combination of pros and cons. and vices and versas. and the fact that i'm fucking sick of moping around and feeling like this.
i come home to a fucking picture frame. one that i let collect dust. i feel like smashing it into the wall, with the rest of my broken memories. and i feel like bleeding all over them.

maybe you have to totally die, before you can ever really feel alive.

11:08 p.m. - 2005-08-14

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