I love you. I really do. And now, I'm telling myself that it's a completely different kind of love. Because now I'm alone, and you were there. Everything that was going on, you were listening. When I needed a distraction from my life, you had your own stories to tell. So now, here I am convinced that there is so much more here than there really is. That there could be so much more. I've been imagining this whole life for a few days now. A life that could obviously never happen.

So why do I want it so much?

garbanzobean garbanzobean
22-25, F
Feb 16, 2009