Breaking up with you is going to be so much easier now that you've given me a reason to.
I deserve someone who gives a shit.
I want you to try harder.
I want you to call.
And when I want you to pick up the phone if we plan 24 hours in advance that I'll call you at a certain time.
I want you to not blow me off to go get dinner with your buddies, who you see every single day.
And then I don't want you to call me back at 11:30. If you leave at 6, you were not at dinner for 5.5 hours.
I want you to listen, I want you to pretend to care.
I want you to do nice, romantic things for me.
I want effort.
I want effort.
It's not okay that I'm mad at your more than I'm in love with you.
For the first time in a long time, I can honestly say I'm not sure if I do anymore.
Fucking over it.
You were my first comment, so I feel obligated to respond. No, not obligated, that word is bland, and doesn't encompass the feeling. I felt drawn to respond like a moth to a flame.
I can't say that I hope things get better for you, but for what it is worth, I wish that I could hope.