Move Along.

I’m so god damn tired of having my heart broken. Every time, I think it will be different. He really likes me, He won’t hurt me. Or, He said he loved me.

Do you know how sick to death I am of being lied to?

You said you’d be different. You said you didn’t want to be just another item on my list of heartbreakers. Well, fuck you. Because that’s exactly what you’ve become. And the worst part is, you don’t even care.

I hate the night-time. I think about everything; from you, to the cancer spreading through Julie’s body, to Ryan, rotting in his casket. I think about the person I could be; the person I should be. I think about my mom, and best friend. I think about how many problems other people have, yet I’m crying myself to sleep because some little boy broke my heart.

I won’t pretend to understand life. Why God gives me so much to handle. Why people die. Why I look the way I do. Why I can’t be happy, no matter how hard I try.

But I do understand pain. Some people might look at my problems and call them silly, but despite the way things look, they’ll never truly be understood by anyone but me. Maybe I’m a teenage girl, and I’m emotional. Maybe my problems are real. The way my stomach churns and my lips tremble when I’m alone is more than real, I can testify to that.

I wish I didn’t still want you. I feel pathetic and desperate all the time, and I hate it. More than anything, I want to be able to say that I control my own destiny. That I can make myself happy, and that I don’t need you.

But if I said that, I’d be lying.