To start off, I’m drunk. I shouldn’t be talking to you. But we all make mistakes. God knows we have collectively fucked up this past six months. I’ll probably type this all out and accidentally hit send. When you don’t reply I’ll be sad, and since I’m wine drunk I’ll be so far disconnected from everything that I’ll temporarily forget that its not my place to be sad. But I miss you bud. Its barely been two weeks since I ended things and every night I text a new guy just to keep myself from wading my way through old conversations to find your familiar face and message you. Yet here i am. I’m trying hard to be out of your life, out of mine even. I wear your sweatshirt to bed every night in hope of feeling at home even when I’m already home. I randomly cry whenever and wherever and I think its for no reason but in reality its most likely linked to you. I shouldn’t have to feel this way, I’ve blown everything out of proportion and I recognize that life would be easier without any of this. I can picture a future without you. I can handle not talking to you as long as there’s someone else to fill your space. But no one has that connection to me. They haven’t seen me at my worst crying over a stupid guy who should’ve grown up years ago. They haven’t seen me naked in all forms of this stupid aging body. They haven’t seen me happy or tired. No one would ever know besides you what I’ve truly gone through and that’s what pisses me off. You’ve seen me at my worst, at my best, everything. You’ve accepted me all those times. That’s all I ever wanted from anyone and I’m terrified that I won’t get that with anyone else.