I miss the feeling of romance welling up in the gaping hole of my heart. I miss being a hopeless romantic.

I’m trying to get better now, after about five years of being obsessed with someone who can’t love me back. There are relapses sometimes, but I swear I have no more strength to go back to how things were between us. I’m trying not to believe in the idea that maybe, just maybe, we weren’t as good with or at love as we are at writing.

Sorry, dear diary, for keeping you full of nostalgia and neg ~feels~. I think I’m just so spent, and tired of being loved and needed for what I do and provide for others, instead of being loved as I am—whatever the hell that means. ♦