I wrote you down but when I stared at the paper it didn't make sense. I knew damn well that I loved you but it seems like it wasn't enough, and so I felt a crippling urge to stab my chest with a pen and bleed my heart onto the paper: the only way I'd ever do you right.
and maybe there's a world out there where you and I fit perfectly -the way the sky melts into the ocean at the edge of the night- and I find myself straying there often, only to wake up in trepidation in a world where you are there, and I am here.
"I love you in ways I thought I was incapable. I love you enough to give you all my time, I love you enough to leave everything behind for you. Don't get me wrong, I'm not obsessed with you. I guess I just... love you, beyond common sense."
"I love you in the sense that I don't care if I don't have you, I just want you to be happy. But wouldn't it be great, if I had you? Because I know.. I know I could make you so incredibly happy."
Have you ever felt so freaking tired of feeling sorry for yourself? So you're devastated, but all the sadness turns to anger because you won't allow yourself to feel. And now you're angry and bitter because no one ever understood the words you never said.
Sometimes I feel like I'll always be the end credits, a crumpled up post it note, or a writer's hidden draft. Important, crucial even. But not important enough to see the light, and that terrifies the shit out of me.
Sometimes bitterness clouds my judgement, I'm not afraid to admit. You see, I hate hypocrisy, more than anything else. So here I am confessing. I hate. I hate so much. But God, do I love. Endlessly... if you let me.