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And todays entry says....
NOT MY LIFE MADE THIS UP:



You are the petals to my flower and the butterflies talk to you. These were the things you told me the day before the last. The next day was the last day, when you stopped talking to me. It's been four days now, and I'm not sure if you will talk to me today. No one has mentioned you, or asked me about you. It's as if you vanished. I remember you asking if I would still love you if you disappeared. And I said yes. You used to tell me you'd love me forever. I found that hard to believe... How can you promise someone you will love them forever.
When I was young I used to have a friend, her name was Kasumi. She was my only friend at the time. One day she told me she was moving to Japan. And so I hoped to god she would not leave, but she did. I cried, a lot, I was young so I didn't know how to handle this. One day my dad told me to write a letter to Kasumi about all the good times I have had with her. I did, it made me feel a lot better like I could let her go. I didn't know If I would see her today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, or never.
I suppose this is what I'm doing to you, letting you go. Because I am not sure whens the next time I would here from you, maybe today, tomorrow, next week, next month, a year, or never. If it is never then you have lied to me again. I remember you asking me to marry you... I had said yes and had everything ready for the wedding. And then you left me, as if I was a sock that didn't fit right or an old toy a child doesn't want anymore. Some people told me you had gotten bored of me, some said you had found someone new to love, a new sock to replace the one that was to small. I went into a depression, and then out of the blue, when I started to finally start living again, you texted me. It seemed like you couldn't talk to me through a call, like before when you threw me out like last weeks garbage, you had texted, no call. You asked if you could have me back, and I had accepted.
Every day, sense the last, I text you. And everyday no response. I try not to imagine the reasons you stopped talking to me. One was maybe you had died... You had always talked about death, in particular yours. I didn't like you talking about it. It made me sad, so i blocked it out. I do remember you asking me, what I would do if I had found your dead body, I didn't want to answer. My other reason was maybe, you had found someone new to love. Some one that would do things you liked and didn't complain as much as me. Maybe someone better, and more beautiful, someone that fit how you wanted a girl to be. I know how many girls are attracted to you. You told me once about your first love. You told me how you had gotten her pregnant. But she had had a false reading, and you couldn't talk to her anymore. I also remember you telling me about the ten girls that you have done. Through my observations I found that this was a way to cope with your sadness.
At the moment all I can think about is the bad things. All the things that make me sad, the things that make me cry myself to sleep time and time again. These are only a few of the things that have made me cry harder than I have ever had. People say, "first loves never die" and yet it's hard to believe. This might just sound like me being an old depressed woman who will end up with fifty cats. But this is not how i like to perceive myself as, I think of this as a way to get this off my chest and after this I'm counting on feeling better. Maybe I wont look at your picture for and hour each night, or cry myself to sleep. Maybe I can sleep soundly without dreaming of you and some other girl making love. This might sound weird but it's just me poring my heart out on a piece of paper that symbolizes nothing.
I am the petals to your flower, the butterflies you get when you talk to me. Or for now, I was, now I'm the old toy that you don't want. I am the sock that does not fit right. I am yesterdays garbage that had been thrown out. I am nothing. Maybe to someone else I am something, but to you I am nothing. I am book on the bookshelf that no one wants to read, I am the ghost that no one wants to think about, I am the dog toy that gets thrown around and eventually trashed. I fear that one day you will pop up and say, "Hey baby" like it was just yesterday that we had talked, although in reality it is realy a month later. I write this not for your eyes to read, but for me to look upon when I think about you, so I can remember that this is a way to say good bye.





 
 
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