I had another dream about you last night. This one was different, it lasted much longer, everything was more clear, more real, more familiar. But it ended right before I got to say what I’ve been dying to tell you.
I need to say it.
The amount of opportunities I’ve had - and then purposefully passed on all them - it seems stupid. But it seemed much more stupid to do it in the first place… sometimes shit doesn’t feel right. Or it does, but you know it isn’t. So why do it?
Maybe it’s just my morals getting in the way. Or the weight of having given my word.
Maybe I should say fuck all that and become what I never really wanted to be. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe that’s how to actually fucking get past all this, despite how terribly wrong it feels.