1:14 a.m.
You’re not sorry.
You’re not.
You keep saying that.
It hurts me because I know you’re not sorry.
You say you are, but how do I really know you genuinely mean it?
You don’t.
I know.
If you really cared for me, you would’ve wished me happy birthday right after the clock struck midnight. But you didn’t.
You are sending me a “bday gift” in the mail.
I’m curious but a bit annoyed.
Why are you doing this to me?
You haven’t spoken to me in ages and then all of a sudden on my birthday you start talking to me again?
For what?
You always do this.
You make me feel all happy and text me all the time for a few weeks and then you stop.
I know we’re not dating or anything so why do I feel like this?
I guess I feel too much for him.
It’s my fault.
I care too much.
I overthink.
It’s me.
But can you accept this crazy me?
Can you?
I don’t think you can handle me and my extra baggage.
It’s not your fault.
It’s not.
But it would’ve nice to see how our story would end up if you could carry the load with me.
Alas, a real man will come and show me what true love looks like.
Until then, I must accept that you are too busy for me. That you don’t care enough about me to love me for who I am.
I accept me.
Why can’t you accept me?
— March 24, 2018
