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.

You make me happy, sometimes.

Seriously, dude, what is your deal?

You never even explained why you were angry with me in the first place, all I knew was that you were. You gave me that fucked up line, "I can't promise that I won't stop talking to you," a few days after you told me that you wanted to be in my life forever - far-fetched in the first place, sure, but it could have lasted more than 48 hours. You think?

I'm tired of you flipping back and forth, and I'm honestly beginning to think that our good days have some pretty fucking stupid underlying factors - where I am, what I'm dong, whether or not you can get a ride home from work, whether or not you think someone else is flirting with me; is this a convenience thing? Comfort? You say you're sincere, that you love me, but whatever. I can't tell anymore.

I'm getting fed up, and I don't expect you to make any changes, so I'm going to have to make one myself. And because I refuse to evolve my life around someone else's ever again, that change is going to have to a be something a little more closely resembling a goodbye.

I hate even thinking that.

This wasn't supposed to happen, but I'm not really complaining.

"You promise you're always going to be in my life, at least as my best friend?"
"How about as more than a best friend?"
"...I'd like that."
"Then maybe we should do that."

I know it's a damn crazy promise to expect anyone to keep, but it's one that can at least make us feel some sort of comfort in the present. What's nice about it is that I can currently say I'm happy with the situation, that I'm committed to this, and I can say that, with the impression I'm given, he's happy with it, as well. This, at the very least, has been made extremely clear to me.

And while things felt like they were going down the shitter for a while there, all alibis were backed up (even accidentally), and all hurts were talked through. I feel much better than I did before, and I don't have any doubt that he means what he says. Especially not with the way he's been treating me - which is extremely well, in case the powers of the internet have made that sentence seem like it was meant to be negative.

Last night, I fell asleep to him having said he loves me about twenty-two-million times, to him saying the sweetest things in the world, and I couldn't have fallen asleep with a larger smile on my big, stupid face.

PS: Kendra needs to stop making fun of me. "This is the girliest I've ever seen you!" As a warning, you're going to be the deadest I've ever seen you if you don't shut that pie-hole.

PPS: I wouldn't actually kill Kendra. Because I love her more than I hate her.

The little details matter.

Everyone's in such a hurry these days, but do they even know where they're going? Do they actually know what they want? If it's so simple, why do most stories end with unhappiness?

Rewind! Take it easy.

Remove that finger from the fast-forward button, you're missing the show.

Actually, it's perfectly okay for you to just skip this one altogether.

This post is more for my sake than yours.

My weekend was awesome, but now every muscle in my body is screaming in pain. Also, I miss someone and I'm way bothered. On top of all of this, I'm a little freaked out (which is a different story entirely). Yes, I know I'm being vague. Yes, this post is going to continue that way. Probably because I'm too lazy to actually explain anything right now, but computers have been out of my reach for most of the weekend, and so I wanted to say something just because I'm here.

Anyway, details later.