I am sorry.
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I know I hurt you. And just like people say that regret always comes so late (and unfortunately it fucking does), I feel so dumb. For wasting opportunities that should have been great if I took them but I just didn’t.
You are a grown man. And I guess I also am a grown woman (seriously? I am only 18 years old by the time I write this.) You feel. I feel. You have feelings. I do have too. And sometimes, feelings fuck. They fuck each other. Those feeling—either a good or a bad ones—fuck—then another fucked up feeling being born. That fucked up feeling turned out to be a very worst possibility. Way too worse than anxiety, from being forgotten, being unloved, being ignored, from being hurt.
And I know I hurt you. Like, a lot. Trust me I didn’t mean it. Let me be brutally honest here. I’ve never ever been in this situation before where feelings and logic keep fucking and make another ‘what-if’ being born. I’ve never felt something like this (okay perhaps I have but this one was too strong I couldn’t handle????)
And I am sorry.
Sorry is not enough, I know.
No I’m not gonna blame myself for not being a verbal person because fuck you, self, this is not what we’re gonna confess about damnit.
I was confused. I still am. Because fuck feelings, right?
I write this post because I know I hurt you. You may not tell, but I know. I love people who don’t express their feelings and emotions right away because observing people is fun. Observing you included. I know what kind of people are you by the way you write. By the way you type. The way you speak. The way you take photos and write story behind them. I know. I just don’t tell. Just like you.
We’ve been hurt, okay? Not exactly being hurt in quite some same aspects but we’ve been hurt. No wonder. You ever hurt me. Not as straight as the way I hurt you, and I might be childish by thinking that you hurt me where in fact you didn’t. You were too nice to me. You treated me like I was your favorite pet. But I hurt anyway.
I know you’re reading this. And you might be wondering is this you in this writing is really you or another you. Yes, this post is meant for you. Yes, you. My muse. My kryptonite. My 2 a.m. thought.
This open letter I write actually is the most non-effective-way-to-apologize but at least I tried.
I tried my ass.
Write all my regrets down is probably the best thing I can do right now. Because I know you read. I don’t know if I was still your favorite writer or no but again, I tried.
I may hurt you. Many times. I played with your feelings. I doubted your seriousness. What else. Oh, I declined everything. I was a demanding bitch (oh wait I still am). I pretended that nothing happened between us where in fact there was always something between us.
So, take me back? When you do, you’ll no longer be my 2 a.m. thought. You’ll be my every-hour thought.
Take me back, or you don’t you have to, at all.
Seriously, take it or leave it. I don't mind.
You are a grown man. And I guess I also am a grown woman (seriously? I am only 18 years old by the time I write this.) You feel. I feel. You have feelings. I do have too. And sometimes, feelings fuck. They fuck each other. Those feeling—either a good or a bad ones—fuck—then another fucked up feeling being born. That fucked up feeling turned out to be a very worst possibility. Way too worse than anxiety, from being forgotten, being unloved, being ignored, from being hurt.
And I know I hurt you. Like, a lot. Trust me I didn’t mean it. Let me be brutally honest here. I’ve never ever been in this situation before where feelings and logic keep fucking and make another ‘what-if’ being born. I’ve never felt something like this (okay perhaps I have but this one was too strong I couldn’t handle????)
And I am sorry.
Sorry is not enough, I know.
No I’m not gonna blame myself for not being a verbal person because fuck you, self, this is not what we’re gonna confess about damnit.
I was confused. I still am. Because fuck feelings, right?
I write this post because I know I hurt you. You may not tell, but I know. I love people who don’t express their feelings and emotions right away because observing people is fun. Observing you included. I know what kind of people are you by the way you write. By the way you type. The way you speak. The way you take photos and write story behind them. I know. I just don’t tell. Just like you.
We’ve been hurt, okay? Not exactly being hurt in quite some same aspects but we’ve been hurt. No wonder. You ever hurt me. Not as straight as the way I hurt you, and I might be childish by thinking that you hurt me where in fact you didn’t. You were too nice to me. You treated me like I was your favorite pet. But I hurt anyway.
I know you’re reading this. And you might be wondering is this you in this writing is really you or another you. Yes, this post is meant for you. Yes, you. My muse. My kryptonite. My 2 a.m. thought.
This open letter I write actually is the most non-effective-way-to-apologize but at least I tried.
I tried my ass.
Write all my regrets down is probably the best thing I can do right now. Because I know you read. I don’t know if I was still your favorite writer or no but again, I tried.
I may hurt you. Many times. I played with your feelings. I doubted your seriousness. What else. Oh, I declined everything. I was a demanding bitch (oh wait I still am). I pretended that nothing happened between us where in fact there was always something between us.
So, take me back? When you do, you’ll no longer be my 2 a.m. thought. You’ll be my every-hour thought.
Just kidding.
Take me back, so I will try to fix you.
Wait, that line is already taken by Coldplay.
Take me back, I will be right here waiting for you.
Damn it, you thief. Already taken by Richard Marx.
Take me back, so I will try to fix you.
Wait, that line is already taken by Coldplay.
Take me back, I will be right here waiting for you.
Damn it, you thief. Already taken by Richard Marx.
Take me back, or you don’t you have to, at all.
Seriously, take it or leave it. I don't mind.
As long as you are okay, then that would be enough. (Point plus if you finally have another human being who is able to make you smile and laugh more often.)
Yes, you don’t have to take me back. Just let this thing be just the way it is, shall we?
Then I’ll no longer feel any insecurity creeps myself out when it comes to you.
I’ll no longer feel that this all is my fault.
Speaking of fault, the fault in our stars—ding-ding!—should have been “The Fault in Nastar".
Yes, you don’t have to take me back. Just let this thing be just the way it is, shall we?
Then I’ll no longer feel any insecurity creeps myself out when it comes to you.
I’ll no longer feel that this all is my fault.
Speaking of fault, the fault in our stars—ding-ding!—should have been “The Fault in Nastar".
OH LOOK I AM TRYING TO BE FUNNY BUT I FAILED.
Okay. I’ll stop. I hope you’re laughing by reading this. Or at least giggling. But smiling would do too. Because I miss the way I could make you laugh back then.
Okay. I’ll stop. I hope you’re laughing by reading this. Or at least giggling. But smiling would do too. Because I miss the way I could make you laugh back then.
Laugh often. Smile often. And I promise I will write often.
Okay, not mostly write about you, but I will.
Just either give or leave me wonderful stories about us and I will write them down.
Do everything good, with or without me, okay?
Smile. Please. I'm begging you. Please. Smile. I love your smile. Yes. That smile. Oh my God. Keep smiling. Wait where is my camera—shit the battery is low—wait!—damnit now this thing is not working!—hey, we should take a selfie once our meeting is not declined again, okay?
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