Blargle

It's only been a week and I feel like I can't talk to you anymore. What's going to happen in half a year? We'll probably be strangers then.

I feel like we've had a role reversal. You're in the driver seat and you know where you need to go. You want time to think and to learn about yourself. Whereas I'm the voiceless passenger without a clue. I don't want to be dropped off in an unknown location to fend for myself. What a horrible analogy but I don't care for prose anymore. No one is going to read this pathetic blog anyways.

I call and I want to hang up when you answer. But I make stuff up. I lied quite a few times already. I want you to know I lied and yet I know the truth just makes it harder for you. I guess I just want you to know this isn't easy for me.

I still haven't written those letters. I don't feel like I've anything left to say.

I feel like I'm beginning a journey of self-destruction. I thought I was strong but clearly I'm not. I don't even like myself anymore.

If I were to write a letter to myself at this point in time I'd write:

"Hey,

You suck.

Change.

-W"

And I'd write to you:

"Good bye. You're better off without me."

The sad thing is... it's true.