You just need me for comfort. You use me because you KNOW I'll always be there, no matter how many times you fucked me over. You like that I don't wear my heart on my sleeve. You like the chase, you like the neglect, and most of all, you like doing it all over again. And I let you. I will continue to let you. Wanna know why? Because, Dear, I like you. I like you a whole lot.

I have this horrible habit of obsessing over other people's lives. I swear, even with characters in books. I just sit all day and play out different situations that might pertain to someone else's life. It sounds sick and that's probably because it is sick. I hate finishing books. I hate not knowing what happens next, not being able to read anything further, not being able to feel like this character or do that to another. Today I actually cried when I finished a book I was really enjoying. The 500+ pages just weren't enough. I wanted more. I'm pathetic.