sorry, I lied.

stop. start. stop. start.
If someone was to ask what I honestly feel during those moments that you do not like. I pretend that I don't dislike it. My pretense works like those words above. Sorry, that I can't pretend to not want to do things for you all the time. Sorry for something I cannot help. If I was to be sorry for everything you disliked, I would simply be sorry for everything I am. That fact is simple. The fact that you can't stand to be around me anymore is simple. Sorry it's not enough. Sorry that sorry is not enough. What other sorries to I have to be? Sorry that I never told you my disappointments? No, in case you might actually have wondered, I'm not disappointed that you're not interested. I'm not at all. In case you were wondering, I am happy with what I have and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, except for maybe what you can never give. I understand that. Perhaps you didn't understand what I'm not disappointed at. Perhaps you misunderstood that I have expectations. No. I don't. I hope, I wonder, I think. Tell me someone who doesn't think about the "what if"'s in life and I'll tell you that I think they're in denial. I think about it, I do not fantasize like some sick puppy waiting to be kicked again.

What did I value? I valued that I had a good time with you, that you made me better and not in the sick puppy figurative "oh, you fixed me and now I can love again" way. No. If you were even interested in knowing, I value you because I thought you were the first real friend I made and in a strange place, no less. You know, the kind of friend that you spend lots of free time with, that makes you laugh, and make you unhappy sometimes. You know, the kind that will actually matter to me 50 years from now. That's what I miss, and I guess if you were interested in knowing--I'm sure that's what I loved. No. I think that I am apart from the people who "loved" you before in that even as it sucks to be that way, and even if I shouldn't be that way, I still adore you. I don't think I'm delusional in pretending that the things you do to make me unhappy don't exist. I tend to think I can do that because they're negligible compared to the happiness of thinking about our friendship. That's right, friendship. I get happy thinking about friends. God, I get overjoyed thinking about a good piece of friend chicken. That doesn't mean I want to touch it, hump it, and bite it hungrily (well, maybe I will bite it hungrily if the mood takes me there).

Blase. What is that? I didn't know. "Apathetic to pleasure or excitement as a result of excessive indulgence or enjoyment."

If a therapist every ask me in one of those patient confidential moments, I don't think I would say loving you (that is, caring for you, not like twilight fans love "r-pattz") is an indulgence. No. The first two people (and I hope the last, 'cause I'm frankly kind of tired of it already) that I genuinely would give heart and soul to have drained every part of me possible. Caring for you has been the single most agonizing thing ever. No, not in the way that twilight fans are agonized by the fantasy of an edward cullen bite. No. It's agony on the level of "Why the hell am I doing this?" agony. No fantasy, no lies, no expectations...I can say I kept doing it anyway like a stupid fool. I say stupid 'cause I guess I now know I am stupid. Nononono, not that I *was* stupid, that I *am* stupid. Not stupid for what I feel, but stupid that I'm not angry. Stupid that I apologize for something genuine, stupid that I can't change. 'Cause honestly, if I can change for you, for me, for my family, for everyone's sake....please don't think that I'm so selfish that I won't change. Don't think that I'm so delusional that I refuse to believe I can change. Trust me, like Michael, like Tracy, like everyone else stuck in the stupid mess that I'm in, there is not a day that goes by where we don't think about ourselves and how much less our lives could suck. Well.

What else can I tell you? What other unadulterated, brutal truth that I can tell you or myself? I've told myself everything I ever could. Like a bag of stale chips, I've opened it, retried it, closed it back up again. I guess this time, the chips are too stale to pretend to close it up again like everything will be fresh tomorrow. Yeah...stale chips. That's what this is.