i can tell myself over and over again that it’s your fault. that i was led into a point of despair without knowing how it would end. but that’s not true. it’s as far from the truth as humanly possible. i can’t convince myself that you’re to blame.

this is what i didn’t want to happen. believe me, i know it’s the right thing to do, the mature decision, and that it will get better. i go over and over through restless nights of what i did wrong. what i could have done differently. the thing is, i can’t come up with a single thing. i can be happy with the effort i put into it to fix/change/notfuckitupmore. however, i cannot say that i some of my love wasn’t crumpled up to not be fixed again.

i do get through the day without too much of an issue, but the night comes and i lay awake and stare at the ceiling above. “spent the rest of her teens experimenting with prescriptions in a futile attempt to know more than the doctors.”

and i’m sorry. i need to apologize for being like this. it’s not your fault. you won’t believe me either and i can’t change that, i know.

the slow fade of love. it’s mist might choke you. it’s soft edge might cut you. it might hit you from below. it’s my gradual descent into a life i never meant.

this thing hurts like hell, but what did you expect?

and i realized too late what i had, too.