More stuff goes here:


And I was just bombarded again. THAT'S COOL.

You know, to be honest, I'm never completely sure of anything - because who is? Is that such a terrible thing? In reality, most of us accept that not everything in life can be planned. We work with what we're given, hope for the best, do what makes us happy in the moment while still trying our best to attain what we want long-term. We realize that this is possible without having to completely predetermine every major point in our lives, and we do so without feeling any less accomplished than those who do the opposite. We go with the flow, if you will, and I personally see nothing wrong with this.

The point is, you really can stop calling me a child for living this way. In reality you're just a cynical asshole who can hardly keep a handle on anything he's involved in anyway, who believes he's some kind of psychologist, and who always feels the need to tell me how wrong I am in my own personal decisions for reasons I can't even fathom. Honestly, you could probably use to take a closer look at your own life before rebuking mine. Maybe if you could control your own emotions I would actually be able to trust you.


"Please don't read this until you get home."

That's how your letter started. I remember it still, because you gave it to me without even looking me in the eye and then took off on your bicycle. To be honest, I read it as soon as you were out of eyesight.

It was something like our sophomore year of high school, back when this whole passing notes thing was the norm. I don't know why we did it - it's not like we ever had much of anything new to say. We were on the phone together every single night, so what did it matter, you handing me a note that I couldn't read until I got home? I was just going to call you as soon as I was there or as soon as I read it, whichever my attention focused on first.

I unfolded the note, which was written in pencil and already showing wear; obviously, whatever was inside had really bothered you. I read your words and I went on my way, calling you that night as always.

And you didn't answer.

This was phase one in the process of losing you.


Just noting.

Thanks for actually giving a shit about me, actually sticking by my side instead of berating me for the things you're not proud of.

Some people aren't as willing.