Space.

You want space so I give it to you. You have no idea how much it hurts to prevent myself from approaching you every day, but I do it because it’s what you want.

I keep thinking and telling myself: It’s foolish to be so worked up over someone who doesn’t even care about you anymore… but how can I help but feel so depressed? You’re ripping yourself out of my life, and it’s so damn painful for me.

I wonder if you even think back to the times when we were close. I wonder if you get nostalgic like I do. Hell, do I even cross your mind at all?

‘Kay, time to go grab a tub of ice cream, turn on some Nujabes and eat my damn feelings.

You know, this is all probably just seasonal depression or something. I’ll get over it. Maybe.