Goodbye.

It started with your words.

Its like I covered myself in glue, each one stuck and felt a part of me.

I don’t know why but I knew I was supposed to know you, right from the start.

Different. It’s the only word I can attribute to this feeling you give me, but it does no justice.

I can’t look at you. I can’t look at you without this pain in my stomach, the kind I get when listening to a really great song.

You make me feel less and more at the same time. I’m being me and I can’t get enough of you.

Beautiful baby please don’t go away.

Paranoia

Why is it that every time I feel for someone I suffocate?

i can’t breathe or sleep or eat.

anxiety riddled thoughts of self-hatred.

They don’t want to talk to you, they don’t like you, you’re annoying them.

Then the girl that’s fun and lovable becomes a monster, self-conscious and paranoid.

I don’t want to be this person, and I hope I don’t drive you away.

This is my baggage.

Proofread.

Seeing you happy is all I’ve wanted for you.

And it isn’t that it hurts me, seeing you with her.

It’s the strange, unfamiliar feeling I get when you ask me for advice.

What should I say? Does this seem right? Is she interested?

It feels warped assisting you in building something that could have been ours.

But instead, the focus is on her.

I want to say run, forget this, love me.

But instead I will proofread your witty banter and watch you gain the happiness I’ve wanted for you all along.