I love you, in a different way.
I'm typing this because it’s safer than sending you this text. Because I can talk to you here. You can’t ask me to stop. You can’t change the subject. You won’t say it’s a maturity thing, or that it just doesn’t feel right. And you won’t just tell me that you love me, and your sorry it’s not in the way that I need. I sit here in tears. I sit and while it may not be every minute of the day, it is a good majority of them that I spend thinking of you, forgetting that we aren’t together. Somehow setting aside all the times that you’ve reminded me. I think about how I miss you. And it’s only when I’m halfway through my message to you, that I catch myself and immediately delete it. Even now, I find myself pondering all of these things I could say to you. Anything to remind you of how you once felt for me. But it’s only words I’ve already said twice before. I can’t make you feel guilty anymore. I’ve done that too much as it is. I can’t beg anymore because I’m not sure how