I hate this. I hate you. I hate that I just lied about hating you. You'll be home tomorrow, I'm getting you from the airport. I'm happy, but sad at the same time. I'm sad because out of anger I rushed to the arms of another. I'm happy because after all the terrible things I said to you, you refuse to let me out of your life. It's hard for me to explain how much I want to tell you that it kills me every time I'm around you because you don't want me in the way I want you, but it kills me when you're not there either. So I swallow my pride and still pressure myself into doing whatever I can to help you or make you happy. Eventually I think I'll be okay, but from how the last few months have gone it will be hard to accept that they meant nothing, and for once, I would rather have someone else be happy before myself. I never believed the whole if you love something set it free thing, but I think this is something like that, where your happiness means more to me than mine and even if it means I don't get my way.