I’m pretty sure that I actively try and make my own life miserable. Then instead of trying to make it better (you know, since I CLEARLY don’t want to actually be happy), I lament quietly to myself. I guess I’d rather have certain disappointment than uncertain happiness. I take solace in the fact that I can at least be happy for periods at a time, short though they may be. If you see this, I want you to know that I cherish every single second that I am allowed to spend with you and that you give me hope where there clearly is none. I love you in whatever way is ok for me to love you, in whatever capacity your heart has left for accepting such love. I am scared that you may see this, but horrified at the idea of never really telling you what’s going on in my head. So with such inner turmoil comes this post, a half assed and roundabout confession of feelings I am pretty sure are already known. I’m rambling now, but thanks for everything.
(This turned out way different than I expected it to when I started this, whatevs)