OF THE EIGHTH: an anonymous blog

DEAR YOU,

Ah, this past week has been fucking fantastic.

Between all the making out and coffee making, the lifts to work and the cuddling to sleep, I can’t say I remember the last time I felt genuinely troubled.

Eli who?

DEAR YOU,

I just spent 30 dollars on weed and cigarettes, only to feel weird with you.

What’s changed?

DEAR YOU,

I realise that you don’t love me, but I really wish you did.

DEAR YOU,

Last night I was completely fine, in fact I was happy. Ridiculously so.

Now it’s all awful again.

I’m going to pay my girlfriend down the street a visit today to chain smoke and bitch.

DEAR YOU,

I absolutely hate you and I have no right to. I know you moved on, but I can’t help but feel so horrible over it instead of being happy for you.

I can’t be happy for you when you broke my heart by being such a horrible excuse of a boyfriend, though. It kills me to think you’re probably treating her better, are more devoted to her, that you might be falling in love with her and that that girl isn’t me anymore.

DEAR YOU,

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in this romantic film that never ends. I crave for your love so much sometimes it gets to the core of me, and I lie in bed and stare out the window and torture myself with devestating love songs just to prolong the feeling.

I really, really do wish we could have been in love.

DEAR YOU,

I definitely do smoke far too much weed for someone my age. I got into this mind space that it was okay and that everyone does it and that there are plenty of others like me out there, but then I realised that I really do smoke the most of my girlfriend’s and I think that might also be because I do the least in life out of all of us too.