I almost resent that you can read other people like open books, but you can't read me as well as you claim to. I don't like that I rarely feel safe around you and that I'm almost afraid of you. I don't like that we don't talk like we used to. I don't like the fact that I'm on my bed right now, needing a hug and someone to talk to... and you're not here, and you're oblivious to the tears that are staining my face.I just wish... that you read and paid attention. Not just the stuff that I write, but me in general. You used to, but now you just don't seem to care enough.
On a happier note: I had an interview today, it seemed to go really well. I really hope to get this job... I'd be really happy. It's working with the kids at a church.
No comments:
Post a Comment