I hurt you. I fucked everything up between us. I fucked you around with our plans. I made you get your hopes up and broke them down. I repeated this about a thousand times before you started not to care. I want us to work, but you think I'm doing this on purpose. I'm supposed to be on my way to you now, we were supposed to go out together. But instead I sit in bed crying my eyes out and writing this. I rang you to say I couldn't go. I explained why. It wasn't my fault, but still, you blame it on me. I'm getting sick of these games. Because you do it too. But I take the blame for it all. I don't want us to end, but it's all I think about. You will lose your feelings for me. Tonight you will go out and get with someone else. And you won't tell me until I find out by somebody else. You will deny it and then admit it. It will be the news to hurt me the most. And it will be a reply of my past. A past I never want to see again.
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