How Distance Tears the stitches apart

I'd like to think that I wasn't so naive to think that this distance could work out. I wanted it to be realistic so bad, but realities don't really work out do they?

I told you so many times that I constantly think about you, way more than to count. And this is when my trust was built up to maximum capcity. I don't know if I can build it up anymore. My days have been spent reflecting on the summer days where we would lay on your couch watching TV, but in my new reality, the TV is fuzzing and the couch's cotton is diminishing. Even the simple actions are devilish and menacing, I can't stand to think I gave you...me wrapped up in a neatly packed gift. A gift you shoved into the mess you call a room. It's shoved underneath your pile of clothes.

I thought we were great together and no one would be able to influence our judgements. My days were spent wondering what you were up to and your days were spent hiding behind drugs. Hiding behind your feminist friends as a clutch.

Thanks for your kind wishes:

How I should get herpes with the girl I never touched down here.

How I should find myself because I obviously copied every single thing you did.

Thanks for royally fucking me over, and yes I meant every single word I said, when we were fighting and when we were dating.

Sam