I can’t be the one who reaches out to you. I wish I had the lady balls, okay, but I don’t and I miss you so much sometimes that it makes me sick. Because I don’t understand why it’s so monumental in my stupid, silly brain. I’m an idiot. A lonely, naive idiot whose only way of expressing myself is through half-truths within my music and anonymous posts all across the internet. What was it about you? I feel like a damn psychopath. I feel obsessed and I hate it. I almost, very nearly went down the rabbit hole. The one labelled Love and S**…I wanted to go there with you. How horrible and embarrassing to know that I wanted you for real and I have no reason to believe that I meant much more to you than the alleviation of boredom. I am cut open, split apart with that knowledge. It guts me. And yet I sit here and I miss your stupid face. I miss you and it’s so intense of a feeling that it hurts, which makes no logical sense. I need to kill this thing. I need to find a way to kill it. To forget, I don’t know, to rewire my brain and undo all of the damage that last year did to me. I am hurting myself by holding on, it’s f****** PAINFUL and you’re just ….what? Fine? How can that even be possible? F****** hell, man. I’m sorry. I really am sorry. At the very least, I wish I could talk to you and I wish there would be nothing wrong with it.