You are an ass and I miss you more than you deserve. You fuck, what is wrong with me?
Wednesday, Nov. 21, 2007 - 02:59

I went to some boy's apartment; it wasn't yours. Upstairs apartment in a house. It reminded me of you, it smelled, it seemed like it could have been you. Had an ice box. He wasn't you. I drank Makers on the rocks - not your drink. I fell on my ass, on the ice, outside of this boy's apartment. My tailbone, perhaps it will hurt when I wake up. I'm playing a song by the Cure - if you remember, we kissed again for the first time while listening to this album. We kissed, eyes closed. You kissed me, that second first time - the first first time I kissed you, or I approached you, we kissed each other. You said, "Is this okay?" You cried, we hugged tightly, you kissed my neck, my chest. You said, "Thank you. For everything." We kissed again for the first time, but it was for the last time - I've never kissed you since then.

The next morning I drove you to your apartment, your upstairs apartment in a house on Queen Anne. Lower Queen Anne, the UUC, remember? Remember how we hugged, remember how we kissed? You cried, I wiped your tears away.

After I dropped you off I drove away, I went home for the weekend. Somehow, for some reason, after that it all fell apart and I never knew why. You have a new girlfriend - while you were crying, while we were hugging tight, I said, "I just want you to be happy." I guess you're happy with her. And as it turns out... maybe I just want you to be happy with me. You're happy with her? Fuck you, and fuck her. I don't mean that. I just miss you, I miss it, when we were innocent, before things got complicated. I miss you and I don't know why it's so hard to get over you. It's 2:49 and I'm supposed to be at work in seven hours and eleven minutes, which means I need to leave my house in six hours and fifty minutes. I need to go to bed. But I miss you, I miss you, I broke my tailbone falling on some boy's porch and it wasn't you, - you, who are in bed asleep in Seattle, probably in bed with the girl you betrayed me for. Betrayed, yes, that's why you can't look me in the eye anymore when you see me. It hurts me, you killed me a little, and I miss you more than you'll ever know. Betrayed - I can't talk about it, I can hardly write about it. I hope you're happy, I guess - I wish we could go back, I wish you could be happy with me. Betrayed, I can only write about it when I'm completely trashed, and do you know how hard it is to go back and fix those typos?