all this time you were pretending. . .

. . . so much for my happy ending.

Eh. I hate when we talk because I never know how I am supposed to feel.

I want to hate you, burn your picture, and slap you in the face.

But I can't. I don't. I won't. And I will never.

I promised you that I would never turn you into a burned picture, just like the others.

( and I will never again slap you, I think I did that one night at the football game- I think so, I obviously cannot remember)

I kept my promise.

You promised me, (your exact words)

"But one thing I just wanted to make clear to you today: I'm really not going to give up. Ever! Even if it takes five years, or if you don't want me there for the rest of your life. I'm still going to be there for you, and anytime you need something, I'll be there."

And that promise is broken.

"Even if you do (give up), I'm not going to"

"I just want you to see how much I can't stand the thought of losing you. As someone who exists and says an occasional hi in the halls, as a friend, as a best friend that actually cared for one of the first times in my life, and as my sunshine. "

Can anyone see why I hate him? Why I want to hate him? Why I can't hate him?

"I know that guy who sent those emails is somewhere down inside of you. But, I can't wait for him. Because waiting for you is like waiting for rain in this drought, useless, and disappointing."