Ok so fuck you, fuck this, I hate that I love you way more than you like me, I hate that I put much more effort into this than you, I hate that our sad excuse for texting doesn’t fucking kill you like it kills me, I hate that I can’t hug you and hold you and cry with you and laugh with you and see you fucking smile. I hate that I can’t be there to ask you for homecoming in a stupid dorky way, I hate that I can’t jump to your house and just chill like normal people. I hate that I feel you slipping through my fingers, I hate that all I can do is watch and get more and more numb, I’m falling as you slip, i fall and I stand and I’m numb and I’m hollow and I’m floating above this husk that was once us. I hate what I’ve become I hate how much I need you I hate how I feel clingy and I hate how much I desire and need your atention. I hate this, I try to hate you I just can’t, I don’t hate me, I just hate this.
I’m pretty old, but also pretty young. I mean what is age but a construct of humanity in a vain attempt to define us and put us as a race in a box with number labels which indicate your level of maturity and what you’re ready for, what an antique and archaic system of governance.