I am such a girl.
It’s really kind of nauseating. I promised myself I would not do this, never again. I didn’t even need to promise; I was so convinced that I could not possibly care. So much about this is wrong. Suddenly eveything I say-or write- means something. Suddenly I can’t seem to stop talking.
I just need to get out of here and take some time to myself, to breathe in. To stare at the lights of New York City (It has been far too long). To stop thinking about you.