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Apr. 12th, 2006 | 09:00 am
mood: pensivepensive

Dear you,

I wish I hadn't told you. I really did like things the way they were, with me secretly yearning for you and you loving someone else. If I had known your relationship was that rocky, I never would have mentioned how I felt. If I'd have known you returned some of my feelings, I wouldn't have said anything. I'm a glutton for punishment and a vague notion of pleasure is enough to shut me down and turn me into a former shadow of myself.

I liked it better before. I lied when you asked if I regretted telling you. I regret it every time I think about you. I regret it every second that I'm awake and every time I see you in my dreams.

I don't know how to love. I don't know what love is. You asked me how I could feel the way I did and honestly, I don't know. I don't even think there's a word for it and if there is, I surely don't know it. I could search a thousand different dictionaries and never find it. But you know I'm horrible at putting my feelings into words.

What I don't understand is how you can reciprocate my feelings.

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