Today after 4 months, 18 days, 22 hours, and 46 minutes, I feel upset. There's some stinging in my eyes. But they're probably yours. The tears. I want to cry for you. It's the least I can do. I do love you. Don't hate me for falling. Falling every way. In and out of love. Failing. Around attraction. Around confusion. I keep slipping because it's slippery. But you were a dry plank that kept its place for as long as it could. Stay, wont you? Don't make me hate this. Hate me.
Because no matter what. I know the pretty stretch will always exist. Those letters will exist. The CD's will. The clothes will. The faint cologne will. The photographs will.
But most of all.
The feeling will.
And you and I will.
Forgive me J.