i don’t want to pick up the phone at 1am anymore

I wonder how you feel, knowing that none of your apologies will ever be enough. Maybe it's kind of like how I feel, knowing that you don't deserve me. I didn't want your second chance to be given to you on your deathbed, that's all.

I mean, this shit isn't supposed to be pretty. My face dripping with makeup at half past ten last October wasn't a picture I would have wanted to paint, but it's still what I needed. It was what you needed to see. This is supposed to be fucked up and raw and real and just painful enough that you actually want to see the end of it all.

God, too late really is such a shitty concept.

Even the view from the top of the hill is messy. Things don't just fall in line, the abstract doesn't make sense, no matter how long you stare. If you live in details, you'll miss the whole point. It was only when I was drunk and alone in her bed, staring at your sweatshirt on the floor that I think I understood.

The past few months weren't a decision. Reasons can't be put into words, life isn't a damn choice, I'm not a fucking option. The worst part was knowing you knew all of the worst shit and watching you do what I heard you promise you wouldn't. A million times over. "Sorry" doesn't cut it. But I can pretend I guess.

This is the first time I'm blaming you. Just because I let you come back doesn't mean I can forget, doesn't mean I'm being smart, doesn't mean you can walk away forgiven and happy. Just because you're my weakness and you know it.

You dragged me out of it kicking and screaming with nothing but your silence.

Make me fall in love with you again.

I'm [finally] not sorry.