We were almost perfect for each other. Except that I was a little too over-protective, a little too hot-headed when I got jealous, a little too ugly when I cry. We almost managed to reach yet another month of the relationship. Except that I was a little too rash, a little too temperament, a little too hesitant to be less important in comparative to her.

Almost — was our everything. We almost reached home before it rained. We almost kissed yet again. We almost told the world we were together. We almost lasted longer than you thought we would. We almost, almost, almost ended things nicely. But we didn’t.

Everything in my life is an almost. And I hate, absolutely detest the word “almost”.

Yet everyday, “almost” encompasses half my life. Almost more than friends. Almost… almost.

Why is it so difficult for you to understand that I hate slow replies from you that I want something more than friends ordinary friends and that you make up a large part of my life yet you yourself don’t know about it. Why is it so difficult for you to hand me something I want so desperately to feel the least bit important to an actual human instead of voices in my head telling me to lose some fucking weight. Why is it so difficult for you to deny someone else to spend more time with me. Why is it so difficult for you to be more tolerant towards an annoying, possibly intolerable me. Why is it so difficult for you to understand the most difficult parts for me. That I’m trying my best to be less annoying. That I do not actually want to be like this, much less feel this way.

I walk into another chapter of my life feeling lost and confused, just like before when you left me hanging alone. Just like before when the thoughts in my head loop around: “fats” “lose weight” “fat fuck” “unworthy” again and again and again. I wish to die. I want to die.

Nobody understands and nobody fucking will. Everyone puts on a face facade. Everyone puts up a smile and pretend fights before never existed.

You probably gossiped about me before. You probably told me off to someone else. You probably hated me once in your entire life. And for that — I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for me. And that you ever have to know a person like me. I’m sorry.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.