You seem really angry. I wonder why. Maybe when I say reality you hear a different word. Maybe any ounce of self definition I culled from you is just a crutch. I want to be what you write about, what you see in me. Usually I believe that I am, but when I doubt it the cloud blinds me to the point of rust. I don't like the sound it makes.
Anyway, I'm just reevaluating and maybe this is the wrong place to do it in. When love ends and colors come to dull it is my nature to take stock. Yesterday I needed to know what exactly was real. I was asking if you were a keeper, in more ways than one. The past is the sweetest reminder that I once held a loaded gun, but I was looking for something else. Anything else.
The past isn't just you & me, not anymore, and I need to step beyond all of it. I realize you are ready to take any of my words as some kind of fuck you or goodbye, but could you please try not to ignite that fire? As a favor between...
Are we friends?