…with drawing the line between plantonic relationships and intimate ones. I’m trying to work on it, but I doubt it’ll be fixed by the time I want it to be. Before the time I need it to be. I just wish changing was much easier than it is. Like math. Find a problem. Solve for the variable. Plug it in; make sure it works. Problem solved. Move on to the next. I can do that, no problem. But not everything in life can be solved with proofs, formulas, and postulates. Which sucks. Big time. Especially for someone like me. I base the majority of my decisions on logic, statistics, and food. That’s how I work. I solve for the variables. And usually, well… not usually, but a lot of the time, more times than expected, it works out exactly as it should. But every once in a while, more times than expected, I open my mouth, and everything gets fucked up.
So I’m sorry. You probably won’t read this. You probably won’t even talk to me again, but I’m sorry. I fucked up too many times to count. I love you, and I suck at showing it, I know, but I tried. You may not think I tried hard enough, but I tried, I put in more effort than you’ll know, regardless of if you’ll be here 10 days from now to appreciate it.
And if you’re reading this, and you have to ask what it means, don’t. I won’t tell you. It’s obviously not for you.
It’s okay, I’ll still