Why don’t you fucking care.

Why don’t you care about me? Why does this not matter to you? Do you like that I still care? That I’m still trapped? That I can’t let go.

I’m done.

I’m not done.

Of course I’m not done. I can’t be done.

Ever.

But I want to be done.

I want to let go.

I want to be able to accept this. And I want it to be over.

I’m tired of missing you. And I’m tired of feeling like things are broken. And I was laying across the end of my bed being kinda sad because things are broken and I’m stressed, and sick, and Connor asked what was wrong and I said “everything sucks and it’s all broken” and he said “well, fix it” and I said, ever the optimist, “I can’t.” and he said “yes, you can.” and he’s kinda right. I mean, a lot that’s broken is broken because a) I think it’s supposed to be one piece but really it’s not, so I need to let it go, or b) like that Japanese art, I need to mend it, and fill the cracks with gold so then it will be fixed, and even more beautiful.

And I know we’ve had similar conversations before, but, frankly, I’m tired of them. I just want this one.

I miss you. I don’t want to miss you.

I don’t want to be not missing you by trying to convince myself not to care, either. I just want to be here, and you can be there, and I don’t have to think of you as Katie-from-a-year-ago and expect you to be the same, because we’ve both changed, and there’s no point in missing the past, but I can just.. not. Not miss you anymore, because, if you’ll let me, I can be here. And I can stop running, and I can stop lying to myself and I can accept that you deleted the blog, and I can accept that you have this weird adoration of Johnlock that I’ll never understand, and I can totally just accept all of that, and you, and accept that you don’t have to love me the way I love you, and I don’t have to miss you, I just have to see you as who you are and not who I want you to be or who you were, and it’s all okay. Because we only have this life. And I don’t like myself or my clothes or my face, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to love you and your hair and your eyes and your laugh, but also that I don’t have to damage that by missing someone who isn’t. So I’m me, and I’ve got all my problems, but all my problems, though they’re part of me, don’t have to be all of me. And I’m okay, I think, with a lot of the past, because there is nothing to be helped for not being okay with it.

And you can have your opinions and thoughts and it’s all okay. All of your actions, too, they’re you. I’m me. And there’s no point about being mad over things that are done and gone. And there’s no point (in this scenario, at least) in missing what’s impossible.

So this is scattered, and I’m sick, and I’ve had a long day, and I’ve been not good at all, lately, but I want you to be some of the good, I think. If you care for this. For me. For all of this missing and confusion to be over. Can we just.. be? Be friends? Be people? Without the expectations and loss and hurt?