It took him one week. One week to finally say "Hey" and attach a kiss-smiley. What the fuck are we doing here? One moment I am hopeless and cry and write "I am letting you go"-posts, the other I am sitting here at midnight, talking to you, joking, flirting in our old, lame way, which we both enjoyed.
Should I let you go? Because if I do, I will let you go for real. I will act cold and I will push myself away from you and you away from me. But what if I choose to hold on to you? What if I keep hoping, what if I will find my reason to live again? What if you'll bring me back to life, heal my scars, feed my soul and caress my skin?
What if everything will be perfect again?
I hate this so much.
I will move at my grandma's for the summer holidays. For a month, at least. which means going to the gym and eating nothing and taking laxatives. Walking at night down his street, hoping to see him, knowing that he'll know I was walking on that street purposely, just to see him. Him and my first ex. What if I see my first ex? That would be suspicious too. I would shove my scars and pills and depression and ED and suicide notes in his hands, because he gave the to me and didn't take them back when he left. Well, when I left. Maybe I didn't let those things go because I was selfish. Now, that's twisted.
My words no longer make sense, which is why I'll go to sleep. Today has been fucked I have eaten too much too much go away I hate you nonono but tomorrow today's lax will kick in and I'll be perfect thin light perfect just alright dead sick perfect I hate food.