Our relationship is unhealthy for the both of us. 

It’s unhealthy only because I want it so desperately knowing that it’s painful for the both of us.  

It’s unhealthy because I know when I’m talking to you and texting you, its gonna will hurt me later, but I’d rather be happy momentarily and endure the hurt after the fact. 

“I’m just a junky and you’re the monkey on my back. I’ll leave as soon as I get my fill.” 

But until then, let’s converse. I mean, why not?

You seem to be doing just fine so who cares if I’m falling apart?

Unless you’re falling apart too, and you’re just a better pretender than I am—which is possible, and also makes me feel better.

The End

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