I’m not psycho anymore like you said. I won’t call excessively just to tell you that I miss you. I promise I won’t mind when you are out with your boys and partying. I won't mind if a girl spends the night again at your friends house with you there. I promise I won’t get jealous. I promise I won‘t cry. And if you ask, I'll stop loving you too. Anything, just anything.

I So-So on that.

I feel serenely sad. I feel that kind of sad that you see in movies where someone just died but it was for the best because that that person was suffering. And you see everyone go to that person’s funeral and the main character is left afterwards to say something nice to end the story.

Say something nice.

...Say anything. Don't hang up just yet. Baby? So I know that you are looking at me with those hazel eyes that use to kiss away my troubles on friday nights. The troubles a year ago about me moving, because back then you cared if you didn't see me, if you didn't get to hear my voice, or taste my kisses. The long fights with my parents about me staying, you kissed those away. All of them, because I remembered what exactly it was that I was fighting for.

I breathe right in front of you, and hold it there until you notice that I can stop my tears by turning my face purple. I sigh and crumple my face up but you don't notice; you look away. You barely respond, not even daring to look at my face, into my eyes, that you claimed that got you through the days at school that you hated, because you hated responsiblity, which was why it was a burden to love me. Responsiblity. Because I was too much for you. Me and my love. And I hear it all to well, in the very back of my meory, that sound you make when you're irritated at my crying, at my wimpering, at my begging. So what's the point of the pain? What's the point of the tears? Let me breathe in front of you again, you might notice it this time.

Maybe this is my definition of Bitter-Sweet

And it happens too fast to make sense of it,
Make it last.
~Jimmy Eat World

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