Kind of a Shame.

Blogging's pretty fun. Gets everything out. Anyway. It's 11:37 PM and it's probably going to take me an hour or so to finish up this blog post. It feels late. Feels like two in the morning but that's because I'm a little bit alone. My moms upstairs taking a bath and I'll be up to bed as soon as she's out. I've just been thinking. Contemplating. I've been thinking about it for about a month or so now but I never get to a conclusion and if I do, I reverse it the second the moment comes to put it into action. Call me a coward, I'm not really bothered by it. I feel like one. I feel anxious. Upset I can't simply make a decision because I'm too hopeful. Here's the situation, since I don't like just talking and not filling people in on shit.

Also, note, this is going to be... NC-17, I guess? Haha. Rating my blog.

I like someone. Love someone. But this entire thing isn't working out. I'm not in the mood to play the 'will he pick me' game. I'm not into that shit. Close the door or fucking walk through it, you can't stand outside it the entire fucking time. And, honestly, I think I'm a little sick of it. He's already told me he doesn't want another LDR, alright. I was set with that and I decided I was going to just back off. I got it. But no. He couldn't be that simple about it, he couldn't just say no. Ain't one fucking thing changed. We still flirt like fuck, and not even that 'safe around your parents' flirting, that 'we're just friends but we like to poke fun' type flirting, we got that 'your grandmother is crying at the thought' and 'wash your mouth out with soap' type flirt. And we roll past flirting at the speed of light and I just say it, rolls off my tongue the same way I want his cum to. SEE, NC-17, all up in this bitch, and, Jesus Christ, this is me being reserved because I'm a private as fuck about such matters, if you seen our texts, heard our conversations, if JESUS CHRIST HEARD THEM... Lord, have mercy on my soul.

And past that. We do flirt in that 'little kids holding hands on the playground' type of way. I love it, alright. I love him. And past that, we can talk for fucking hours about bullshit but get serious five seconds later and I adore it. I love how comfortable he is with me, ok. ADORE. Adore, adore. So, that's us. I love him. I've told him this, numerous occasions, I bet I told him today, and I'll continue to tell him. I don't know why anymore. Maybe I should just keep it to myself since it doesn't seem like it matters. I do matter to him, but really only so far as I don't negatively alter his esteem – as long as he doesn't make me feel bad. Which he does. Constantly. He doesn't mean to, and I'm not just standing up for him because he does some shit where I swear he does mean to but fuck it. 99 times out of 100, he doesn't mean to. But, I've gotten myself into this. We're too close. I'm the only one he can talk to about this, that, and this, and I love that, but one of those topics is his ex and, well, motherfuck, that sure makes me feel like shit sometimes but whatever.

He tells me he loves me. Not often, it's not a thing but when we get into serious conversations, he does. He does say it off-hand occasionally but who gives a fuck about every-now-and-again shit like that. I don't know if it's true or not. Sometimes I think he's just rebounding hardcore and is just a fucking idiot. Hate him for it. Other times I think he just loves the attention I give him and is confusing the attention for me. Then, at 2 AM in the morning when I'm trying to go to sleep, I think maybe he does a little bit but does it really fucking matter if he isn't going to do shit about it? No. It doesn't. And then, further, at 12:04 AM, I think, no. He doesn't love me. He likes me. He likes the attention I give him. He's sexually attracted to me. He likes owning a part of me. But that's it, because he can go off and have crushes on other people and not waste a single moment to think of me. Not that I need to be thought of at all, I'm not so needy. Oh, wow, I'm lying through my teeth. Wonderful.

I'm tired. I'm tired of trying so hard and you know, it seems like he's just basking in it. Not really replying to it, but just loving that I'm trying at all and you know, he compares me to the rest of them. Like I'm just someone else into him. Alright. If he seriously wants to play it that way, fucking fine. Go to your others. Test them. I'm sure that girl right there will answer your calls at 3 and 12 in the morning and she'll do it with a smile. That other girl right there, you know, I bet she'll let you talk to her about your ex. And her, you know the one with the strawberry blonde hair, I can guarantee she'll make you orgasm harder than I can. Honestly. I want those words to come out of his fucking mouth; I want him to tell me they care for him more; they please him more; they love him more. I dare him to lie to me like that. And he will. I know he will and I'll want to pull his tongue out his fucking skull for letting those syllables play on it. He's so goddamn irresponsible with his words. He'll say it. Hm.

This entire affair is starting to really irritate me. I'm past being sad about it. I'm just pissed. And you know what? He just texted me and I am fucking pleased. That's the problem with me. One ounce of attention and I'm like, 'thank god.' But fuck, man, you know? I'm not desperate. I'm not that fucked up. I deserve... more than this shit, you know? Holy shit. What a shame.