it's been a crazy few years and sometimes i just can't ******* believe i've made it this far. after two almost-cut-throat endings and too many nights watching red swill down the plug hole, i'm surprised i'm still standing now. honestly, i used to be in love with the idea of life even when i wanted to end mine but now it's just another motion. well hey, at least i'm still moving. nobody standing still or lying frozen gets the chance to land somewhere new; if i'd have frozen, i wouldn't have met you.
  you that's changed my life in ways that make me simultaneously wish i'd never met you and wish i'd met you sooner. i never used to cry over people but i also never knew what love was supposed to feel like either. maybe i should hate you for tearing down such dedicated defenses or maybe i should love you for making me live, not just exist. maybe i should feel both ways at the same time; maybe i do.
  you asked me what my favourite part of my daily routine is and i told you about how i like to watch the city pass me by through the bus window on my way to college: a filler moment that's always wonderfully long and regretfully not long enough, earphones in, music loud. it's the quiet solitude of the moment that draws me in. i always rush in the mornings, and even free periods at college leave no room for peace. the simplicity of sitting quietly, alone amidst strangers that pay me as little attention as i pay them.
  i kind of want to sit in silence with you, enjoy that quiet solitude with you by my side. i'm always alone but loneliness can defeat even the unbeaten warrior. so let's be alone together. be my shield. protect me from that fatal blow; i don't want my gravestone to read "George Vs. Loneliness: K.O."
  sometimes you make me angrier than i ever thought i could be. i shake and shiver, my teeth attack each other. your love is such a pretty shade of purple when things are good―i want to drown canvases in it. but my anger is a violent red, and when you trigger me the colours switch: i'm seeing red when i look at you, my knuckles are purple-bruised.
  but when it's all over, somehow, you're still the one i want to lie with. and maybe i should get more help. maybe i should tell them how explosive i am, how i worry that one day you'll be too close when i go off and you'll look me in the eyes with my shrapnel in your chest and tell me "we're done". i think five years of therapy has only taught me one thing: i am incapable of being fixed. but it's alright. it's okay to be broken. you're the one that taught me that. and it seems like our broken pieces fit together well enough together to create art. messy, chaotic, but emotive and beautiful in its own right. paint me as a villain, if you wish. i'll still paint you my anti-hero.