I want to argue about stupid stuff like who is gonna hang up the phone first or who loves whom more. Not this fundamental shit we keep going round and round about. I want to beg you not to stop getting me off, not begging for your attention in a crowded room. I can see the disappointment in your eyes. It reminds me of things you cannot know. I think you go there because of pain that I cannot know. I know the what and not the why, and you know the why and not the what. But both our views are incomplete. It makes it hard to feel safe and easy to step on each other’s toes.
I have been so shitty to you. No one knows that better than me. No. One. You have no idea what I have done to myself as a result. Not your fault or your problem but very much mine. I may not be that person anymore but I carry her with me everywhere. Life or death is not always a metaphor.
I don’t want to lose you. I feel like I am losing you. I don’t want to ask you for anything you don’t want to give. I feel like I am asking you for more than you want to give. Please don’t leave me. Leave me if it protects you.
I am a mess, I guess. But I want to be your mess.