Why is it that the person I’m suppose to love the most is the same person I occasionally wish would leave and move to a remote part of China? When you scream, pull your hair, punch yourself in the head because you’re angry at me for being upset… I don’t think you realize how long it takes me to get over those incidents. The entire time you’re telling me that you don’t know why I’m with you, the whole time I’m thinking about how much I fucking hate you.
Do you think that when you push me away I’m going to come running back? I’m not a rubberband like you are. If you hurt me I’m not going to grin at you forty-five minutes later and talk to you about something I saw on Digg. One day you’re going to notice that the distance between us isn’t because I’m frigid… And if I’m am…
It’s because of you.