Nauseous. Screaming. Melting.
I want to throw up.
I want to die.
Why? Please tell me why. Please look me in the face one last and tell me why. You have no idea … well, no, wait. You should have an idea of how much I love you. You really, really should. I love you … so … so much. You have no idea. But you should have every idea. Oh God. Save me. Please. Please save me God. Please save me God. My face is raining. Oh, don’t you remember?
Do you have any idea how much I love you? How much I loved you and do love you.
You loved me, too, I know. Or at least you did an incredible job of pretending … I pretty sure you love me though. I’ll never forget February 7th. It was the best day of my life. And it always will be. Unless, of course, something better happens to me. (hehehe)
Look me in the face. Tell me why. Why wasn’t I good enough?
For two months you loved me and I loved you. We loved each other. And it was beautiful. At least I thought so.
Then you slowly began to show me less affection. You treated me like a friend rather than a significant other. It’s ok, I thought. It’s ok. He still loves me. It’s ok.
The more it went on, the more I thought, it’s not ok. It’s not ok. It’s not ok. I was scared.
I finally told him how I felt. I was so afraid.
I was so afraid.
Now I am dead.
I gave you so much. My heart, my love, my time. Hehe, and my money. (smile) Valentine’s Day, two one-liter bottles of Dr. Pepper. A book on beginner’s Russian. Dill pickles. And a dozen condoms.
Every weekday from January ’til April? A veggie burger. Or curly fries. Or grilled cheese.
“Tell me what you want, baby, tell me what you need. Anything you want, baby, give it to me, give it to me…” –The Little Things, Colbie Caillat
Good night. When shall I die? Tonight? Tomorrow? I don’t know.
If you’re reading this, you can save me. Please do.