Sunday, April 7, 2013

"...I would never dare to say this in any other way unless I'm not sure you won't read it. It's just... I miss you like crazy. I can't stop thinking about you, what you're doing, when I'm going to see you, whether you think of me at least once in awhile... It's like being sick all the time. Nausea, starting somewhere in my stomach, and spreading upwards to my lungs and throat and face. Every nerve in my body trembles, awaits.... I don't even know for what. Here I am... writing this right know, acting like some fool. I don't like this feeling of being dependable. And that's what I am. Why would it matter if you think of me? Would it change something?
Of course not. I don't know whether you know it, but I certainly do. It won't bring nothing much then a short satisfaction, and then nothing but pain. Cause it hurts already, I can't imagine what will happen then.
I want your attention like some selfish, spoiled little brat. I want you to spoil me, I want you to care. I want you... There... I said it... I want you..."

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