Because I would not go away for a week and not wish to speak to you.
You’re quite comfortable just going and not having any contact with me for a whole week. That doesn’t seem odd to you.
I can’t say for sure, but the way I feel now, I’ll likely die while you are away. I’m already about there right now. I won’t tell you this, of course. It’ll ruin your fun time. It’s something that’s important to you. Obviously more important than me, because you were fine to spend money on that, even though you know you could have spent it on coming to see me.
I am not important enough. Not to anyone. Everyone lets me down eventually. And this will be you letting me down. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone to care about me as much as I care about them. But you don’t. You’re out now… with promises of texting me to make me feel good. But I guess my two texts weren’t enough to grab your attention. I suppose whatever you are doing is much more interesting than I am. I’m not surprised. I’m an awful person. I would rather be doing anything else, too.
I just wish I hadn’t opened myself up for this when I came there for three weeks. I let myself love. I promised myself I would never do that because the last time nearly killed me. And I love you more than I did that other person. This broken heart will kill me.
You won’t even know or find out until you get back. If you find out at all. I mean, who will there be to tell you? I could leave you a note on tumblr. Would you even care? No, it’d be better if I just disappeared.
I know myself. I can’t even stand you not talking to me for a day. A whole week will be the end of me. But I can’t even tell you this. I don’t feel like I can tell you this without it causing you to hate me.
I’m just too tired to deal with these hurts anymore.
