r, g

I wrote that for you.
I wrote this for you.
And I'm dying for your attention.

But at least I have the comfort that seeking someone's attention is so much easier than missing someone who broke my heart. All of the entries prior to now and after our meeting, I just don't feel them anymore. It's irrelevant.

In the words of my best friend in their last letter, "I think we're both just crazy."

That's fine with me, as long as it always gets better. For now, this is better.