This is About You

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This is About You (or)

If I Were Braver (Part Five)

I don’t even know if you’ll read this – I hope you do, if that means anything.

I wish I could see you, I wish I could touch you.

I wish you weren’t an arse.

I wish you didn’t like other girls. Just the thought of you liking someone else frightens me in a way that paralyses my lungs.

I wish you could come to terms with your sorrow and fears instead of turning angry and pushing people away.

I wish you never pushed me away.

I wish I weren’t so pathetic.

I wish I knew why I felt this way. My friends and psychiatrist think they know why, but I’m afraid to use the words they use. Speaking makes it true, doesn’t it? It’s part of the Magic. Right? Right.

What right do I have though? I told you of my last date with this arsehole. I kissed this ultimate loser when I’m still mentally devoted to you. I thought I was being smart, I thought I was ‘keeping my options open’, but in reality, I was only trying to distract myself from you. Once more, I was trying to get over you.

I don’t like this, I don’t like these thoughts at all and I feel as if it is mostly my fault.

Oh, if only you were to tell me, give me some sign.

I’m going positively mad and I hate that – I shouldn’t allow a person to make me feel this way! I should be above that, I should use my head instead of my heart.

I hate you.

I like you.

I supremely like you.

And listen here, she better be the best goddamn girl in the world. She better make your heart swell and fill your mind with thoughts. She better be as important to you as you are to me.

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