I am the biggest hypocrite. I look at perfectly nice couple in love and scoff at them. I say I don’t believe in love. I have bitterness in my heart, if I even have a heart. And then I wonder why I feel alone… why I wake up and feel cold… I push away everything good.


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When I realize I like somebody, I have to tell them. Always. I can’t not do it. I feel as if I’m keeping it a secret. I hate keeping secrets. Just, they’re stupid.


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the things I’d do for a male body.

the things I’d do for a male body.

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I miss you.

Well, not really. I miss missing you. I miss thinking everything you said was golden. I miss the sharp, burning of jealously when you dared to mention her. I miss having someone to think about. I miss those late nights spent crying until my sides ached because you decided I wasn’t worth the time. I miss twisting the truth so you’d think I was cool. I miss feeling all the time, even if I wasn’t feeling good. I miss your smile and you’re tiny waist and being genuinely happy whenever you were.


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I have trouble convincing myself that you’re real, considering the whole time I knew you I was drunk in love with you. I hardly remember how it felt when you’d text me first or when I got to see your smile. I don’t remember how it felt when you were upset and I couldn’t help. All I remember is how it felt when you’d talk about her. It made me want to punch walls, which I actually did on a few occasions, and steal you away. I think I should redefine love, because jealousy shouldn’t be all I remember if I claim to have been in love.


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