Mad

by la vie de McGee

You think I’m mad at you. And yeah, I am. But most of all I’m mad at myself.

I’m mad at myself because no matter what we can’t go back to how it was.

I’m mad at myself for trusting you. Even as just a friend. You were a great friend, I didn’t think you would hurt me like this.

I’m mad at myself for pursuing you, even though it takes two to tango.

I’m mad at myself for falling for you when all you were really doing was leading me on.

I’m mad at myself for letting you in. For telling you my deepest darkest secrets. For listening to yours.

I’m mad at myself for hurting over someone who doesn’t even care enough so talk to me.

I’m mad at myself for loving your smile. Your eyes. Your laugh.

I’m mad at myself for believing when you told me you wanted to be single. But you didn’t. You just didn’t want me. You wanted me to be there regardless.

But mostly I’m mad at myself because I don’t want to hate you even though you’ve immensely fucked me over. I don’t want to ignore you. I don’t want to cry about you. I’m mad at myself because we can’t go back to how it was when I believed that this was real. I’m mad at myself because all I want is for all of this to be set right. I want to be able to trust you. To spend time with you. To have you be my friend. Or to have you as more. I’m mad at myself because I still believe this could happen.

So yes, I’m mad at you, but most of all I’m mad at myself.

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