I was attempting to lull myself into shaky sleep, bitterly listening to quiet ballads of stories that’ve gone much better than mine.
Soft, sultry voices sang about being in love with your best friend and how it feels divine, and I scoffed because they forgot to include the part where it’s a living hell if they do not return the sentiment.
I was trying to forget about your face for five **** minutes but escaping this purgatory is turning out to be harder than I thought, because I meant to tell you how I felt a million times, but kept it bottled up.
I do not expect you to react positively when the words finally pour out of my lamenting lips like *****; but your response would be easier to stomach if I knew it would be contempt and indifference, instead of a sick, complementary sympathy and a familiar softness around your mouth.
What I’m trying to say is that I cannot spend another day pretending that you’re thinking the same thoughts, when it’s obvious that you are not; I’ve fought with my emotions for far too long and decided it’s time for that to stop.
So, I’ve made a compromise and put it into words: I’ll say it.
I’m in love with you, simply put.
Now, if you even care enough to reply, don’t.
I can’t bear to hear what you have to say, my love.
You’ve torn me apart enough.