I want what you did for me last April. I was pathetic, you took care of me -- and that one hour did more for me and how I feel about us than anything else these past two years.
I want you to make my hurts go away.
I want you to make me feel like I'm worthy of your affection.
It's not just about fucking. If it were that simple, I would've been over you by now. You wouldn't have weighed on me when I was fast and furious with Beth. But I'm not over you. I never will be. Your memory lingers every morning I wake up. And I've accepted that. I've accepted that and the fact that you don't want me. I've accepted the fact that this other guy bested me, and now all I've got are a bunch of a photographs and memories to help me recall how wonderful it was to be that madly in love.
So, please, if you can't give me your affection, leave me be. I'm about to burst out crying at work. You win, okay? You win.
