Another.

We are never, ever, ever, getting back together!

I really wonder what the people who've ever read a single entry by me think of the person behind the blog. “Kittenbonez.” Sadism, masochism, depression, desperation. All that good shit. But hey. I'm Trevor and I'm just a bag full of fucking goodies. I love me. Hate me, but I love me because if anyone else was me, they'd fuck way too much shit up. I fuck less shit up, considerably. But life has been a shit storm lately. Chill with me. Let's recap. We've got the boy, don't we? Ah, gotta have a boy. There's always a boy. He's not my boy but I wish he was and he likes to tell me he is and sometimes I think so, too, and right now, I think I think so. I've still got the same problems, same concerns. He's not my boyfriend and I'm not his, and he tells me things like, 'Why do you worry about girls and me? You have me and you're silly to think you don't.' But he'll say other times, 'I wish you were mine,' and other times he'll say, 'You're mine.'

… I'm starting to write like this is a fucking story, calm the fuck down, Trevor. Calm down. This is real life, stop disassociating.

Ahem.

We talk about it more, these days, in passing. We're cute. He calls me sugar, sweetheart, baby, hun, and I don't want to slit his throat for doing it – it makes me feel warm and cute and shit, fucking disgusting. Makes cloud nine look like hell. The other night, we lied down together. Eyes wavering between open and closed, trying to adjust against the brightness of Far Cry 3 on the television screen and the darkness. He tells me it feels like we're a couple. I'm pass caring – I've given up, so I snuggle in closer and whisper, “Whatever you want, love.” I call him that. I call him love because he's my first love. For me, he's the creation of love. He explains it to me but I don't listen because, honestly, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear how he likes this because I only like it for what I get, not for what it is. I don't want this to be ruined for me. I just wanted to stay close. So, I did. And he whispered sweet things to me until I fell asleep. He made me feel perfect.

He told me he's been considering being my boyfriend. I don't know if I care anymore. And honestly? I don't feel like recapping. I don't feel like telling anyone, as if it matters. This is how it is, this is how it will stay. He's foolish to think that after a year of asking, a year of being rejected, suddenly, I wouldn't give up. As if I wouldn't feel defeated, as if I wouldn't feel like maybe I'm just not a thing. Maybe I'm not really worth it. Fuck it. Who gives a fuck. I do. And soon, I won't.