i don’t like writing about you because when i do it comes out all mushy gushy and heavy with my ridiculous hipster metaphors and i read it and reread it a million times over hoping that you’re sitting at home reading it and thinking, “oh my god, i wish this was about me.” and i sit at home thinking, “he’s wishing it was about him and oh my god it is.” but life is not a cheesy hollywood movie with witty lines and adorably romantic coincidences. life is a fucking bitch and it hates every single one of us and the only time anything ever goes right is when life turns its back for a split second. some people get their moment, they get their love, but they’re the lucky ones. my moment has yet to come. so i’ll try my best not to write about you and i’ll go to bed tonight knowing that because life is just a series of moments that aren’t mine, these words will never mean anything to anyone but me.
