I'll never run out of excuses

Not for you.


If you were here, you'd see me growing--
I'm not as inept and socially hermit-like as you remember.

I'm more generous-- but not to you, I guess.


I still wear that little rope-- but those things don't matter.

These words don't even matter...

But for me to do the things that do-- would mean something more than I want them to.
And it's not what you think...

Not that.


Maybe one day.


But for now I'm still clinging to my childhood. Yea... I know I should shut up about it.
I know I'm an idiot for crying at ONLY the thought that I may grow up one day.

And not crying about my mom.
Or not crying about my money.
Or not crying about losing you.


But I'm so emotionally skew, That I'm uncertain as to what to do.






This should be a blog.


But you wouldn't read it otherwise.


























I don't want to die. I don't want to be sad. And I know it comes off like that to you lately--

But you're the only one I do it to...

Should that make you special? I don't know...

But I know that I'm crying out to you when I could be to so many other people.
Even if I can't cry in front of you.
Or over the phone.

But I can stop crying-- thinking of you telling me it'll be fine.



It won't be.


But you'd say that.
Or you'd make it happen.


I won't say I love you-- because we're beyond that, and it hits a personal chord that it shouldn't.


I just want to make you happy,
And only make you sad--

I may not be the best...
But surely, I'm not that bad?