dear you,

be careful with my heart.

it’s fragile, and i’m already broken and imperfect enough.

please… just tell me what you’re thinking. no more games, no more inferences. tell me what thoughts go through your head when you chose your words, when you plan your future, when you decide who to open up to today.

i’m willing to give it a try, but i don’t think you are. funny, because that all changed within a week.

i’m confused, love.

it hurts.

on top of everything else that’s going on, you’re only making it worse. i was willing to muster through until you added that last straw to the pile. i’m not sure if it was intentional or not; i’d like to go with the latter.

the day before my birthday, i felt like poop and didn't go to school until 10:30 to try and feel better with extra sleep. it didn't work.

i don’t expect anything from you. how sad is that? a week ago i wouldn’t thought you’d have a huge surprise in store. now i know better.

i hope i’m just being dramatic, and that everything will turn out all right in the end.

i care about you, a lot. remember that.

love, me.