Here I go again. I can't help it.
Maybe he'd appreciate me if I actually did something worthwhile. If I cleaned my damn apartment once in a while or cooked a decent meal instead of offering to buy a basket of wings.
Waiting for it to end. Longing for the guy who proclaimed his love for me from the top of a mountain. Waiting for someone who feels the same. Someone who doesn't need to be drunk to enjoy my company.
Wishing for someone who really, really digs me.
Maybe I'll take that person seriously this time.
But then I ask myself "Why would he put up a fight if he didn't care?"
Then it's back to our silent meals. Content with the nothing that holds us together. It's not like I'll ever find anyone better once he's done with me.
I'll cry now because I'm hormonal.
Because I'm tired.
I'm stressed, sick and weak.
I'll feel better. I needed that. What was I thinking anyway? I know that I don't want to get married. I'm too realistic to believe in a happy ending. I'm still to cynical to believe in love.
Here and now, Baby.
He takes the edge off of the torment of life. That's all I ask.
My old self.