“but the thing is, you’re not here anymore. i mean sure, you’re around. sometimes i call you when i’m drunk and you tell me everything is fine and i use all of my strength to convince you that it’s not. sometimes you text me to ask me how i’m doing and i always reply, “well, i’m alive, aren’t i?” sometimes when i’m really feeling low, i kiss you and you don’t stop me. but your mouth has always been razor blades and i’m addicted to self-destruction. so maybe you think this is being there for me, but the truth is, you make everything messy. so maybe you think being friends is the right thing to do, but if i wanted to, i could convince you that it can’t be. so maybe you think your kind words mean something to me, but i’ve learned through trial and error that you’re just really good at faking it. and the truth is: you don’t know me anymore. good. i don’t want you to. you think just because you know i want to die some days, you know what it’s like in my head, but you don’t. because the truth is: we’re not really friends. we’re just two people who use each other to feel better when we’re sad. when i ask you how you’re doing, i only listen when you tell me “bad.” maybe it’s sick, but it makes me feel powerful when you tell me you’re so alone, like maybe some days you regret leaving me out in the cold. and maybe it makes you feel powerful too, when you hear me upset and remember all of the times i smiled when i was with you. so maybe you’re around, but you’re not really here. we’re not really friends. exes like you don’t get to be friends with people like me. you don’t even deserve my presence.”— chew toys (via achingchest)
