I hate that you made me feel like I’ve never felt before.

I hate that you were my first love.

I hate knowing what true love feels like.

I hate that you made me feel pain like I’ve never imagined.

I hate that I loved you so ardently for so long.

But most of all I hate that you weren’t who I wanted you to be.

endlesslyunamusing:

have told myself that I would love to live alone. By myself. On my own. Free to do my own thing, whenever I want.

My family has always agreed, too. My older sister Sara has always been the responsible eldest child, I the independent and free-thinking middle one, and my brother, Colin, the babied worrier of the quatro (this including my mother.)

“Oh, Mack? She’ll be fine on her own. She always does whatever she wants. She’s so independent. Hell, she is probably bursting at the seams to leave us, anyways.” I’ve always chuckled and shrugged, halfheartedly agreeing with them. I do want my share of adventure, after all. I’m fully aware I’m not going to be tied to these three forever.

But sitting here, alone, actually pretty chilly (I should get on that), listening to Pinback in the grey, dull, empty house makes me dread the day when this is all I’m going to come home to.

Some empty, cold house or apartment, with nobody to talk to but the house cat that I will most likely get when I move out.

My mother just left with her boyfriend for a “middle-of-the-week, using-up-the-vacation-days-while-we-can” getaway and it was actually pretty hard letting go for some reason this time. It might be the weather, the mood of today, (it’s all been very off), or just the cloudy disposition that I’ve recently acquired.

Overall, I feel like I’m in a haze. Walking around my small, suburban house trying to find something to warm me up but to no avail. I guess I need more than just blankets and fuzzy socks right now.

November 29th, 2010