Thursday, April 8, 2010


Last night I finally told me what was bugging me these past few days, though I didn't tell him that it's been bugging me for that long.

I told him that I didn't know if I wanted to be with him for much longer. I told him of my pent-up anger, my jealousy, my loneliness. I told him how I couldn't just watch him do something I so desperately want to be a part of, knowing that I will never be. I told him of how I wonder if there is someone better out there for me, if there is a guy that would love me more. I told him how angry I was that love isn't how they make it out to be in movies, or in books.

I didn't tell him that I was scared of letting go.
I didn't tell him that, really, I want to let go of him and see new things, meet new people, try to find out if a wild and passionate love really does exist.

I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him, and so I stayed.

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