Yes; I am up late, pissed at you. I hate it when you make promises that you can’t ever keep, and I hate how I childishly always wait for later, the later that never comes.
I am a child, a big baby who still throws tantrums. Someone who hurts, sometimes, despite telling you that nothing’s ever wrong. I hate you, but I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to fix it. Not now, now ever.
I just want it to be too late. I don’t want it anymore. I want this to be all my fault.
And above all, I just want to move on.
I feel so exhausted. Some days, I just wish it would all end. We’re traveling on two different wavelengths in opposite directions, getting further and further away, until all that remains is an unintelligible mess of sound.
You don’t know what I want, and I won’t give you what you need.
I need a smoke, a drink and a goodbye.