My closest friend, who’s more of a brother than a friend, told me this after talking intimidating the life out of a potential lover of mine on the phone:

“Yknow Aly, I’m gentle towards you and I’m patient towards you.  I love you.  I offer you kindness as often as I am capable, and I’m surely not perfect, but I try very hard to never be anything but a loving protector and firm hand for you to hold any time you need it.  I’m there for you when you need me and I spend long hours into the night contemplating how I can aid you further.  I take every moment with you as a moment I can treasure, and when I make a mistake, it hurts me, but I dust myself off and go right back in because you mean that much to me. Far more than it means to me to blame myself for mistakes.  I wouldn’t hesitate to come to your defense for anything
and, as ******* noted, I am direct. And I was polite and generous and asked his opinion many a time, and I was overly gentle.  But he was scared because not for a single moment did he think that this was a simple, generous, kind conversation.  He could sense the darker part of me, and he knew I wasn’t far from unleashing that.  You can sense it too.  So yes.  I scared the crap out of the boy.  He’s lucky that I’ve learned the self control to not be far worse.  Simply put, I love you. That love is enough to motivate me to act greatly on your behalf in any way I can.  As a follow up to that, I’d just like to add that I do my very best to never be unfair, and I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to hide things from me.”

I honestly have the greatest best friend in the entire world.  I can’t even fathom life without him at this point.  I love him so much, so so much.

I am ridiculously bored

I feel so fucking vulnerable and broken and charred and burned and in pain right now.

Honestly, there’s a giant gash right across the center of my chest that won’t heal. It just keeps bleeding and tearing apart the raw edges of my skin.

I feel so fucking broken.

Last night was probably one of the best nights of my year.

I don’t know why, it shouldn’t be, but I think it’s incredible that I’m so close to Matt that I can comfortably take off my shirt and bra and have him not care and have me not care and just have us be comfortable together.

That’s the sign of a true brother-sister relationship; I’ve never knew it was possible to be this close to someone before.

If he asked me tomorrow to get matching tattoos, I would in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t, of course, but I would.

I love him.

I’m realizing for the first time that I need help.

I need serious help.

And I don’t know where to start.

You bastard, who are you to make me cry?

I don’t know why I love you.

I don’t fucking know.

I’m depressed.

I don’t get it, but I’m depressed.

That word disgusts me.

The area where my heart should be is gone. It’s not there. Or, maybe it is there, but it’s being a bastard and going numb on me for no apparent reason.

All I want to do is grab a pencil and carve my skin until it magically reappears. As if that can ever happen.

I know I’m better than this, but I don’t want to be. I really don’t want to be.

I just want you to tell me you love me. But you don’t. Maybe you do. Who am I to know?

I want to sleep, and cry, and carve, and sleep, and cry some more, until I cannot cry any more.

Or curl up in a ball and watch 500 Days of Summer and cry.

But I can’t, because of school. School is starting to sicken me to the deepest core of my being.

It’s sick and twisted and doesn’t mean anything. Why the heck am I trying so hard?

School doesn’t mean jack s#$t. You don’t mean jack s#$t. Nothing means jack s#$t.

Absolutely nothing.

fuck

fuck so fucking much

fuck