Dear Paul,

Yet again someone has managed to write my exact thoughts:

"When will I grow up and get the fuck over my past so I can actually live?

Why won't time heal me? Why am I dwelling on this? Why is it taking over my god damn life?"

The funny thing is that they're my exact thoughts, but ones I had a month or two ago. Coz now, when you call me, I couldn't care less.

Maybe, just maybe, I am finally ridding my soul of the scars your lies left there.

And perhaps at some point your presence will be no more than an observation, but at the very least you merely being alive no longer makes me want to die, so that's a step in the right direction.

-Me

heart - break