I don’t want to talk about how I started to love you.

I don’t want to talk about the black shirt you would wear twice a week.

I don’t want to talk about the way you’d walk with me after school.

I don’t want to talk about the glasses you got midway into the school year and how adorable you looked.

I don’t want to talk about the two weeks you spent texting me non-stop and then you stopping suddenly.

I don’t want to talk about how we sat next to each other during math class laughing the whole period.

I don’t want to talk about going to McDonalds on Fridays after school with you.

I don’t want to talk about the way you’d look at me constantly during science.

I don’t want to talk about how you ignored me for two weeks and then tried talking to me like those weeks never happened.

I don’t want to talk about how you flirted with her during lunch and left me crying without even bothering to check up on me.

I don’t want to talk about how you walked away that day.

I don’t want to fucking talk about how you left me.

Is that so bad of me? That I don’t want to remember how you destroyed me and everything I was?

I don’t want to talk about you, sorry.

—  1:27 am and I already miss you
I’m tired
I’m tired of everyone
I’m tired of being sad
I’m tired of hating myself
I’m tired of everything
I’m tired of constantly
wishing I was dead
—  I’m tired of being me ( shy-quiet-and-insecure)