You literally don't give a shit about me, do you?

Well. It's been two weeks now since you told me "You are the type of thing I hate and you aren't going to stop."

I thought you loved me. You certainly said you did.

Now I am the personification of everything you hate.

And I'm just here, on my own, still in love with you.

With a knife in my chest.

You'll never know.

Niggling insecurities. I suspect that the only reason you keep me around is that you don't think you'll find anyone else.

Maybe this is a response to the trauma and bullshit I have to deal with at home. Who knows.

I'm stopping by again.

Principally because I feel like I can write to you here, knowing you'll never read it. And if I go writing anything else on your Discord, you'll probably get angry at me at throw things.

I love you.

I really do.

You are simply incredible.

Have I ever told you I love you?

If not ... I have now.

If I have ... well, I still do.