No one sets out with the goal of teaching someone they care for that love just really cannot be enough, but it happens. I wonder how hard it is for you to watch me like I watch you, do everything we could never do together. Jealousy is when you would do absolutely anything to be in someone else's place, this is so much more than that. This is silence. It's August now, and the only thing we both have in common, is blaming ourselves for an inevitable situation. I used to love when you would go through my shit, it meant you really did care. Now I simply wish I could forget, let it rest, give it a rest, rest.
But I can't help but project your old emotions onto each and every night.
I'm terrified of no goodbyes, because to me it must be the end, and it's backwards, but if you say anything it isn't over.
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