My Fantastic Reality

I'm fucking crazy.

This is what that is.

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1. My Fantastic Reality

Sometimes, most of the time, I really want to kiss you.

 

Not in a romantic way, just in an ‘I really really like you and I miss you and I want you to know that I really want to friendship kiss you’ kind of way.

 

And I know that’s weird to you because I was always weird to you but I really don’t know how else to express it. I love you. I really really love you.

 

Which is an issue. It’s a big issue because you really don’t miss me at all. And that’s fine, I get it, because I really really hate myself. Most days I wish I were dead so I would understand if you did too. I don’t think you do. I don’t think it’s that extreme. I think it’s just my fantastic reality and my tendency to turn people into things that they’re not and love a little too much before backtracking and destroying my life by ghosting and blocking and deleting because apparently I love to fuck up my life as much as I love you. 

 

I did that before, do you remember? When your life went to shit and I left you because I swore to god that you hated me. You didn’t tell me anything then and you don’t tell me anything now. I’ll never really know what happened to us. 

 

I think you did hate me. You were embarrassed by me at least. My new friends aren’t embarrassed of me, which is nice, but, then again, my new friends aren’t you. I really miss you. I miss you so much that I cry. It’s a bit pathetic, because I don’t think I’ve had more than a ten minute conversation with you in about a year now but fuck, I love you that much.

 

I don’t really know why. Maybe because I’ve been fake laughing my whole life and you were, are still and I think always will be the only person that could make me smile. Really smile. 

 

You were always a good listener. I found out you still are. Just not for me anymore.

 

I wonder sometimes was that the problem. I always talk to much. Well maybe I talked myself out of your life. Probably… No I totally did. 

 

Anyway, I guess I’m sorry. I don’t really know what for other than being myself. I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted and I’m sorry you weren’t what I thought you were. But I’ve always been a fantasist, so I’d like to believe there’s a world out there where we’re still together and we like each other and don’t make believe. I’d like to think there’s a world where you want to kiss me too. I don’t think there is, but I’d really like to believe in us.

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