#hellsbelladonna

You aren’t my best friend, we are ex best friends. We don’t know each other. We have a history, but we are two strangers with familiar faces that talk to each other.

He’s not my best friend, he’s a life partner that I have a hard time talking to about personal matters because he doesn’t do anything beyond listening. That’s enough, I suppose.

I don’t talk to my “friends” from high school much anymore. They’ve moved on and are better off without me.

I can’t look at photos or drawings of lovers because I long for those moments with you.

But if it makes you more confident, I’ll never speak to him. I’ll never try to befriend him and I’ll never meet him. If you leave and go to him, then I suppose I’ll have to let go of you.

Here I am thinking: oh damn I mean nothing.

I used to define myself by my looks. I craved the attention because having someone’s hands on me meant that I was wanted. That’s ducked up and it can’t be helped.