I’m forever sorry for what I’m doing. If I tell you about this account after all, I want you to know that these stupid poems aren’t about you. You are so wonderful and supportive and sweet and I feel like I can’t keep up. I feel like I’m so uncertain and uncomfortable that I can’t put in all the effort that you do. And I want to, I swear. I just can’t and I think I might not work the way people do in fairytales and I’m so so fucking sorry because I want you to be happy. For real happy. Which I don’t know if you can be while you’re with me because I can’t do this. Because I have this weird inability to like people until they like me and then maybe I just like feeling validated. I don’t know because I want to really like you as much as you do me and in the same way I’m so sorry. And I’ll say it over and over because I don’t know what else to tell you. If you read this, which you probably won’t, I just think that I lack the ability to be in love is all. That maybe I’m destined to spend my days alone until I end up a crazy cat lady, all alone with little lion man, in our little confusing platonic lives. Maybe this is why I don’t get flustered, and why you do. Because you’re not like me. And you don’t deserve to spend your life alone because you are such a gorgeous being that deserves all of the good in life, and I really hope you find it.
Stay safe please.