I have this itch, in my hands. Constantly telling me to do something. Go to the park, and do some yoga. Take a hike, or paint a picture. For two years, when you were my man, I wouldn't do any of that. I lost myself to your abuse, I was alone. I Love You. I would say. But two months later, I realize I don't love you. I never did. You were the one who took away who I am. And who I am ultimately does not love you.
My Diary











