the only thing stronger than my self-loathing is my love for you

you don’t understand, because all you do, is insist that you do.

Can someone love her and for once not whisper lies that could lurk through her bloodstream to break the seams of her heart?

Here I am and I don’t love you i really really don’t and not like in “I never could’ve loved you at all and I knew that from the start” but more like in “i think I might’ve loved you or could’ve loved you but you fucked it up like way way too much so thanks for that I really hope you’re glad” more like in “i wake up and I don’t think of you for awhile and like I mean awhile and it’s pretty nice actually” more like in “this nothing is so much better than the uncertainty of you youyouyou you had some nerve thinking I could ever forgive everything you’ve done to hurt me.

They say love is sewn from starlight and sun-washed afternoons, but all I have ever known of it is darkness and desolation and the nebulous hands of woe.

If you asked me to, I might forgive, but be sure that I’ll never forget.

I knew better than to fall for his pretty lies and empty promises but I suffer from this disease called hope and it always leaves me crying on the bathroom floor, wondering if love is really supposed to hurt like this.

How dare you ask me for honesty when it’s the same thing you’ve withheld from me all this time?

I already know you are lying so why do you insist on sticking with the lie? I don’t get that. It would be so much more easier to forgive you if you would just tell me the truth. The fact that you are sticking with the lie, trying to save your sorry ass, shows me that you are not willing to make this work. A lie won’t fix this.

You were the one who brought me back to life. The one who picked me up when I was at my lowest. The one who showed me happiness could be found when I no longer believed it. Then, you took everything away and put me back where I was when you first met me. You were actually so useless. I didn’t need someone to just show me that happiness could be found, I needed someone to show me that it could last. And you failed majestically to do that.

I should’ve known. I should’ve guessed, when he started saying all of those sweet words, those compliments, those declarations of love uttered without a single hesitation, without a single tremble in his voice. I should’ve known he was not sincere, he was just rereading a rehearsed script. Because true love doesn’t express itself so fluently, with such ease. True love is blurry, sweaty, nervous and shy. He was never any of it. He asked if I loved him with a hint of defiance in his eyes and a mischievous smile, and he was never worried about the answer. He knew it already, and to be honest, it didn’t really matter to him whether I loved him or not, and God knows I did. He didn’t ask out of concern, but out of pride. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to prove himself that he had succeeded once more, with one more girl, that his charms hadn’t lost any of their brightness, any of their power, that he was still the master of the game. I was just another name on his never ending list.

Silence hurts less than a thousand promises you eventually find out will never be kept.

Mr. Groff: I love all of my students! Jackson, Eric, Otis, Maeve and, uh…

Watching Sex Education…