were i to have it in me to write you an actual letter, it would go something like this. i am sorry for always calling you when i am fucked up and horny, when no one else is around to take my shit. you were a good boyfriend and bestfriend, my reasons for leaving are ridiculous and the idea of you with other people makes me sick. that is why i cant let you go completely. you never get sick of my whining or tell me that i'm living in disillusion. you dont fuck me and make me want to vomit or hurt myself.

i feel bad for being so horrible when i get close to people, i just cant handle people liking/loving/whatever me. i am paranoid, you know. seeing you tonight at the bowling alley reminded me. i am sick of jeremy, perhaps temporarily. i want to be with you and the stupid records you listen to, your high strung politics and constant talk of edward scissorhands. i like the way your mouth feels like my own and how we happened on accident.

i have told you practically everything and youve never made me feel boring, its just a feeling that lurking between the bookshelves and record cases, between the boxspring and mattress where i keep letters. you didnt dump me, you didnt convince me that there was someone better suited for you out there.

i have been stupid and i want to appologize. i am just lonely and dumb, watching terrible movies over and over and managing to imagine you as the main characters. i'm not promising you anything, just that i love you, even if it is only because its convienent.