A wannabe statistic.
6:27 p.m.

Dearest Love,

I am caught.. rather cut inbetween.

No one cares. And you're one person that does and you live 1000 miles away, literally.

"You're just 14, you're not even bad enough to know how life gets."-The Virgin Suicides

I want to end it all. But it would mean leaving you here, alone, death almost sure to pull you under its dark wing as well. Why can't I just convince myself to leave you? I love you.

I know I do and it makes me sick to think how much and how much suffering to go through.. living for your touch and nothing else. At all.

You're such a dreamer. It makes me sick when you spout all these things.. how it will all work out, and you'll do anything and everything. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO OPTIMISTIC? ITS TO THE POINT I DON'T THINK YOU KNOW REALITY!

Reality is pain! Do you not understand that?! Good people suffer and bad people relish in wealth. WE ARE NEVER GOING TO BE TOGETHER AND I HATE THAT YOU THINK WE WILL AND CAN KEEP PULLING AND PUSHING FORWARD AND I CAN'T.

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