Real

Here I am, sitting at my desk only wearing a pair of pants, and I can't stop thinking. Do I mean as much to you as you mean to me? Doubtful. Do you mean all of what you say to me? No. Do you do it because you know you shouldn't? Completely. I have so many unanswered questions. I'm tired of questioning everything. I wish I could be as ridiculously honest as I feel. You are one of the most selfish people I have ever met in my life. And you have no idea. You always talk about yourself and you always act accordingly. You can't stop. You have no idea how glad I am that things are the way they are. I can't stand to be around you, even though I act like I can. I don't want to be your friend. I want to ignore your calls over half of the time. You always have something better to do. We don't talk anymore and I blame you one hundred percent. You suck at listening... suck at it. You are never there. I worry that you don't love me. You judge me... constantly. I hate it. You are such a hypocrite. I can't take you anymore. I give too much to you. I love where we are because I don't care as much as I used to. I'm insecure. I smoke too much. I'm unhappy. I can't find a cure. I miss you and I can't stand that I can't have you back. I love that you reacted the way you did. I'm not okay with about forty five percent of who I am. I hate having to try so much to get so little. I'm real. I could be realer, but most of you would not be able to handle it. I'm tired... all the time. I hate that I procrastinate. I hate that I don't do anything about it. I say I'm an open book...

What I don't say is that for me to be completely and totally real... I don't include the crowbar to pry open my pages.

xoxo DannDann