It sure doesn't seem like it's working out. I've been toiling for many months now. I don't know how many more times I can take the blame. I don't know how many more times I want to take the blame.
I have no one to talk to, about my problems. About you, about things.
Maybe sometimes, I just have to, only I can't.
And it's tearing me up inside?
I don't know.
Till I do, we'll live like this. Miserable, angry and unjustified.
I see Angel staring at me, looking as though I've always been in the wrong. I don't want to be in the wrong. I never do. Somehow, I always am. Even when someone else apologises, it's my fault.
I know it is. But I don't want it to be.
Give me back my fantasy.
I'm not happy.
I know I keep harping on it, but it hasn't changed. I'm still not happy and I still want to be.
The structure of this entry is in pieces, it's not carefully strung together, sentence weaving into sentence. It's just thoughts, you know? Thoughts of a worn out mind, of someone unwilling to give up, but is soon throwing in the towel. Me.
I am not perfect, I know.
I can't live with someone who is always or even often pointing out my imperfections to me.
Why?
Why do these things happen? Postsecret.com makes me cry. I make me cry. You just add yourself to this list.
Crying is not a solution, but it makes me feel better. I like letting my emotions be known. Maybe that's my fatal flaw.
Or maybe my flaw is you.
I hate math.
