Monday, May 21, 2012


*So I live in Texas now. I got a job and moved out here and things are great, although Ben is my only friend. I joined a gym to get myself out of the house and in hopes that I might make some awesome girlfriends. Other than that, I don't have a whole lot to say. I know that my dad and a few other people like reading the nonsense that I write, so I'm busting out some vintage blogs that I didn't have the guts to post at the time. Here's some vintage Katy from 2008, laying it out the way you only can when you're 21 and have just gotten your heart smashed into bits.*

Sometimes I wish I had an accurate count of how many nights I have spent like this. Awake. Silent. Waiting for a phone call that will never come. These nights pass without tears, without music, but achingly full of thoughts that I can't control.

Here is the painful, ugly, honest truth:

I loved you. I would have done anything and been anyone for you. I would have waited a thousand years for you to come back to me. I would have ignored every single red flag and foregone every means of defending myself if it meant that you would have been in my life. You were my first love. You were my only love. I loved you with every atom in my body and you shattered every last piece of me by walking in and out of my life time and time again. I let you hurt me again and again because I loved you more than I can say.

I don't understand. I don't know when it all changed or why you decided not to tell me anything, leaving me to form bitter assumptions. I don't know if you ever think of me and I wouldn't be surprised if you never do. I don't love you anymore and I don't miss you, but these unanswered questions still leave me restless. I stay awake because it still hurts; I spent years pretending not to mourn, because I didn't think that I had the right.

I wish you had been man enough to protect me. I wish that you had been steadfast and stepped back when all of this started, instead of infiltrating my heart like ivy encircling an old wooden fence. I wish that I had been older and less naive and I wish I wouldn't have allowed you to take advantage of the love that I had for you. I wish you had been man enough to tell me the truth, instead of convincing yourself that I was tough enough to do this on my own. We both know that I was strong enough, but I wish you would have cared enough for me to tell me yourself.

I don't want you. I don't want an apology. I don't even want my letters back, because there's no way to pretend that I didn't carefully address them, sending another piece of my heart with each one. I just want to know what happened; after three years, I at least deserve that.

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